My family and I are in the process of relocating from NJ to Maryland in June, and we're actively researching elementary school options for our children. However, we're facing a dilemma regarding one of our kids, who recently received acceptance into the NYC nest program, specifically designed to serve students with autism.
We're conflicted about whether to stay in New York, as both his current preschool staff and prospective school staff have spoken highly of the nest program, emphasizing its excellence and the challenge of securing acceptance. However, it's worth noting that the NYC school where he was accepted into the nest program will be implementing it for the first time this year.
If we move to Maryland, our plan was to enroll him in a "mainstream" class or the equivalent of an Integrated Co-Teaching (ICT) class.
We're torn between the NYC nest program and exploring a new school in Maryland. Any insights or advice would be greatly appreciated as we navigate this decision.

The VTOL coursed through the night, rumbling through the starlit sky towards the marker zone. The soldiers within were jovial, the mission absurd, and laughing where they could. And as the gunship darted over the Australian wilderness towards the small town where the UFO was last spotted.
Sara had been waiting for this. It was inevitable afterall, since the Kansas Incident.
Around 3 hours ago, a number of the satellites the UNECIA had stationed over Australia refitted to watch for electrical signals matching those seen in the last abduction. The nearest UNECIA base was scrambled immediately. The soldiers aboard were among specially selected UN Peacekeepers, but thus far the reality of the situation hadn’t truly set in. However, it was about too.
At the moment, Fusa was directly managing comms, and while not physically present in the Command Room, Sara knew Arko and Rozad were watching. She also knew damn well the UN Security Council was watching as well. Sara took a strong drink of her coffee, secretly spiked with Applejack in her quarters. She was already running the multitude of potential scenarios in her head. The smaller aliens, named ‘Grunts’ for the time being were what she expected. But the larger one, called a ‘Champion’ internally by the UNECIA was likely to present as well. Maybe not the exact same one, but Sara expected one to be present. She had been reviewing the Kansas Incident for nearly a month now, and the whole affair struck her as a number of foot soldiers being commanded by a handler. Of course, there was always the possibility of a kind of alien they had not yet seen, using new weapons, but there was only so much she could do to plan around that.
Since then though, Sara had been restless. The one thing that never sat right with her was how easy this whole thing felt. Security was already pissed with her for putting their communications under triple coding and veiling their internal comms under Balkanes Romanes, but Sara wanted to be damn sure it was esoteric as she had access too.
“Carcossa, this is Monsoon, we are approaching for landing. Permission to drop Strike Team when ready?”
Fusa looked at Sara expectedly, awaiting orders. Sara nodded.
“Affirmative. Strike Team Claymore, this is Command. You are clear to drop as soon as Monsoon gives the green light. We’re going for a hot drop, can’t have you linger. Remain in the area for Evac.”
“Affirmative. Monsoon moving into position for the Drop. Strike Team, you are clear to drop on green.”
Sara watched through each 6 of the helmet cams of the team as they stood and readied. She took in a breath, as she readied herself. It took two to tango, and she dreaded what her partner was bringing to the floor.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tralyr watched from his command throne as he watched the Entangled Cameras of the Johka and Officer Filyahr collected the Ehke subjects. This was the first covert insurgency since Aesma’s fuck up. And his linguists were still working to uncover the tangle of communications that had since emerged across the planet. They had to have known at this point, Tralyr reckoned. It was simply a matter on how they would react.
“Commander, collection successful. We are planning to load up the Ehke and then leave. I got a bad feeling Commander. The air feels weird.”
“Affirmative Filyahr. Have the Johka do clean up. Keep a pair with you and send the rest to take care of any leftover mess.”
“Yes sir. We-”
Filyahr ceased to speak abruptly, as Tralyr leaned forward in his throne. His Hashtari did not cut off like this for no reason. He quickly cycled through cameras, only to catch a glimpse of a Johka’s head being split open by a metal slug going through it’s head.
“Officer Filyahr, your sentries are being attacked. Shield Pattern, you have permission to open fire.”
“Yes sir. For Ralakai!”
Tralyr quickly cycled back to the final shots of the Johka’s cameras before the remains of cranium painted the back wall of the Ehke housing block. It was brief, but for a moment, they saw their attacker. Wearing their planet’s high end combat armor, the Ehke that shot them was wielding a ballistic rifle. Their apparel was standard camo for their military units, save the stupid looking helmets the same color as their oceans. Tralyr quickly went back to his comms.
“Officer, these Ehke are not locals. These are soldiers. Weapons hot!”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“What the fuck is this thing…”
Ambrosia looked at the alien as it slumped forward on the ground, a viscous blue fluid draining out of its head where Sergeant Kronkowski had shot it. The closest thing she could compare it to was a Jerboa, but this thing was the size of her childhood bull terrier. Private Vasquez pushed it to the side with its boot, as the weapon it was holding smoldered on the ground next to it.
“Strike Team, this is Carcossa. Keep moving. Your objective is rescuing the civilians. Permission to advance, you have permission to fire on any Grunt or Champion contacts.”
“You heard CO,” Kronkowski said back to them, as he raised his rifle back up, nodding forward to the hot spot. “Keep moving.”
Ambrosia nodded, and fell back in with their squad.
This whole situation felt absurd, and yet, there was that thing they just passed by now dead on the ground. This was actually happening. The gun it had wasn’t anything Ambrosia had seen, and yet… it existed. It would have fired it at Bergan had Logan not shot it. But more than anything, she was happy a gun could kill it. She felt her hand gripping her FN FAL tighter. She was now terrified. Were they really under an alien invasion? If not, then what the hell was that thing? She soon however had her thoughts interrupted, when her comms lit up again.
“Your area is getting hot. Everyone move into cover now!”
Ambrosia snapped to attention, she instinctively darted towards a nearby alley. She looked to her squad, as she suddenly smelled an utter reek of ozone. She turned, as she watched as Sergeant Kronkowski was staggering back at the head.
“Sir-”
He couldn’t respond, as his face swiftly turned to char and ash. Scorched meat and melting hair radiated from the Sergeant, as he fell back to the ground, his hands curled towards his face, rasping out a scream as he clawed at the peeling meat on his head in pain. It was an ambush, one her immediate superior paid for with his life. She pressed against the wall so it could block line of sight from the shot, as the sounds of gunfire and whatever the hell their weapons were began roaring through the air.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”
She could barely make sense of the orders. She heard some to fire on an alien moving through an area, and she would do so. Sometimes she was ordered to move cover. What was only a couple minutes felt like hours. One of the aliens even tried leaping onto her, but thank god she had a combat knife. They bled like a rat, and their eyes were way too beady as it bulged in it’s helmet as it died. After the firefight began to quiet down, she hid behind a convenience store, sneaking a view of the street through a reflection in an ice machine.
She wanted to say she counted 12 or so of those Grunts now lying dead through the street. Bergan was laying slumped against a wall with their entire chest now resembling a brisket, her eyes all too bright as she laid in an alley. Last she saw Vasquez a Grunt was tearing open his neck before she shot it. She heard an explosion and a human scream, which she thought was Jiminiez, when last she saw him he was fumbling with a grenade. And Murnau was lying slumped in the broken window, still cooking as ozone smoldered off his body.
“Private Zervaz, report!”
Ambrosia panted, as she pressed her comm unit, eyes still dead set on watching for any signs of combatants in the reflection.
“Private Zervaz, reporting.”
“Private, this is Commander Sadoul, now listen closely. You’re the last member of the Strike Team. There were 27 Grunts in the area, however, there is a Champion unaccounted for,” Ambrosia gave a heavy exhale as she heard the number. Was it really that many? The whole engagement had been a blur. But as soon as she thought of that, her breath caught in her throat, as she saw in the reflection the other thing the Commander had mentioned, “I need you to pay attention and listen. That Champion is actively looking for you. It took a direct hit from a grenade, and while it’s still standing, it doffed its body armor. It has an exoskeleton like a giant bug. Your rounds don’t breach the bone-”
“Fuck!”
“Quiet! You’ll expose your position! Get something you can swing that’s big, sharp, metal, and as heavy as you can manage. And then, wait for when it’s back is turned, and strike it as close as you can to where its abdominal muscles would be.”
Ambrosia’s eyes shot around wildly. She moved her gun to her back, and darted as fast as she could to the back of the store. She looked about, and found a fire axe. She panted, as she drove her elbow into the glass, and then quickly grabbed it.”
“This is insane. This is insane. I…”
Ambrosia panted as she caught a glance of a chitin clad thing approaching the entry point to the gas station. She caught her breath, as she watched as it looked around. She waited near the door frame, eyes trained on the reflection. She clutched the axe close, as she muffled her panicked breaths as much as she could. And then, for a single moment, their eyes met. And in a split second, one of its arms shot up and fired into the reflection.
This shot wasn’t plasma, but rather a laser. Ambrosia couldn’t have reacted to it. As by the time she saw it, the beam had split, one of them splitting into her helmet, striking the face plate, melting the glass and splitting the beam if only for a moment. By a miracle none of the rays hit her eye. However, the entire right side of her face was now ignited by the fury of the sun.
Ambrosia tilted back and howled in sheer pain as she quickly scrambled the melting helmet off of her head. The room was now ablaze, as the lasers set fire to most of it. She fell to her feet in shock, wheezing. She gripped the axe tighter, as her comm unit began to buzz.
“There is a fire spreading through the gas station. March or die Private.”
Ambrosia gripped her axe, as adrenaline began to course through her veins again. Her body ached. Her face was in agony. But the building was now on fire, the immediate exit ablaze from split laser fire. Flight was impossible.
It was time to fight.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Filyahr moved forward, lowering his laser pistol. They waited, as they heard the Ehke scream.
“Report.”
“Commander. 5 contacts have been confirmed dead. Confirming the last one now. All the Fohka have died. My body armor was destroyed by an Ehke Fragmentation device, however their projectile weapons cannot pierce our mighty bones.”
“Don’t get arrogant Officer. Whoever is commanding these Ehke is crafty. We outnumbered them nearly 5 to 1, with advanced weaponry. And yet here you are, the last of your forces. Confirm the Ehke combatant is dead. Now.”
“Affirmative.”
Filyahr moved forward, raising their left arms as they approached, their hardlight shield igniting as they approached. This place smelled of fossil fuels, and they knew it wouldn’t be long until the fire reached wherever it was being stored. The blast would be huge, and now they would have to deal with the possibility that the fireball would alert more Ehke. This whole situation had been cocked. They grumbled as they came forward, stepping in front of the room.
As they peaked in, a metal wedge swung hard towards them. It slammed right into the projector of their shield, and with a crack it exploded on their arm. Filyahr reeled back, screeching, as their lower left arm had been rendered to a red mist below the elbow. Filyahr tried launching themselves backwards, raising their gun to shoot the Ehke right between the eyes. But they swung again with a mad zeal, the now chipped wedge slamming into their hand. Right through the fingers, the wedge split open bone and muscle, as their laser rifle cracked with a heavy hiss. It exploded with far more ferocity than their shield had. That infernal metal wedge the Ehke was wielding was sent out of their hands, as both of them went flying across the room in opposite directions. It smashed through a stand of preserved foods, while Filyahr went careening into metal box full of ice.
“Argh! Ralakai damn you!”
Filyahr pulled himself from the box, the cold washing over causing a horrible chill in his blood. As he staggered forward, he looked at the Ehke, who was already pulling themselves up. They had ditched their helmet, as an entire side of their face was still sizzling from the laser strike. One of their arms was now clearly shattered, as it hung limp next to their side. But it’s eyes…
Filyahr blinked, as it couldn’t help but be stunned by the Ehke’s tenacity. It was nearly as strong, fast, and nimble as a Hashtari, but yet they lacked a Hashtari’s fangs. They lacked their claws, their tusks. It staggered forward, it’s soft pink flesh still burning. It was fragile, and yet it still looked at Filyahr with all the malice of a territorial herbivore. But it’s eyes…
It’s eyes…
In a moment, Filyahr understood why this species was the one that conquered their world. And it was already growing from its fight with the Fohka. Filyahr laughed in glee, as he realized what this war would become.
“Commander, I know why the Saklas want these creatures!” Filyahr laughed into his comms, as he began to walk towards the Ehke. It grabbed a metal club from behind a counter, as it moved the blunt rod onto its shoulder, as it barked something at it in its language, “They have the Gift! The Ehke are worthy foes! I grant this one the rite of the Final Dance!”
Filyahr charged, ignoring his Commander. They raised their two good arms in a battle hiss, as the Ehke spun, darting out of the way. Filyahr arced a claw towards its head, as claw connected with shoulder. Filyahr however felt the club slam into his jaw, as his chin shattered. Both staggered, but the Ehke used its hand being free to its advantage, as it slammed its club into his abdominal structure. It cracked, as Filyahr coughed up blood in shock. He tried to attack with an open hand, but the Ehke delivered a well placed boot into his knee. He lost his balance, as he hit the ground hard, as he wheezed, starting to get dizzy from the blood loss from his two mangled limbs, and his now shattered lungs. He wheezed a laugh, as his lungs began to fill with blood from the strike to his abdominals.
“Well fought Ehke…”
Filyahr smiled as he wheezed, as the steel club slammed into his skull, splitting it open just like his jaw had been.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[[Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1ccdqg8/in_the_shadow_of_empire_part_11/ ]]
[[Previous: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cd01q5/in_the_shadow_of_empire_part_12/ ]]
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Hi there. (Kind) advice is appreciated.
I am 52...I got my first job at 14 and have been continually employed since then, going into the Army at 18, getting off active duty at 22 and starting college where I worked 3/4 time while completing a degree in education. I taught 5 years in public schools before moving into the cubicle farm where I've bounced around in different roles and currently manage a data/analytics team for a large health insurance carrier. I stayed in the Army Reserve for 26 years and can expect a small pension as well as Tricare when I turn 60, so I have set age 60 as my retirement year. So...more or less 7.5 years to go. My 401k is on track to allow me to retire at 60 and live modestly, but not extravagantly. I likely will ex-pat myself to a lower cost of living country once all living parents are gone, but that's in the future.
I know that the next 7.5 years will fly by...but I am just not sure if my sanity will make it.
What are some career options I could consider exploring for the next 7.5 years to make me a decent salary, pay my health insurance and (hopefully) continue to contribute at least some $ toward my savings? Unfortunately, I am not handy nor mechanical, so I don't see myself in the trades. While I'm generally healthy, at age 52, my body is starting to show some wear and tear as well.
Here's some ideas I've kicked around:

1 - starting a home cleaning business with me as the only employee. I am not sure physically I could do that for the next 7.5 years, but I did clean more than my share of toilets in the Army and am pretty good at it. The guy I pay to clean my house really seems to enjoy the work and is keeping afloat from everything I can see.

2 - open a food cart...we have a big food cart culture where I live, but the market is pretty saturated and while I'm a decent cook, I really have no food service experience, so I'd have to do a lot of learning on the fly...plus, I don't really like people all that much so I'm not sure how I'd do in a public-facing role. :)

3 - Using my veteran's preference to try and get a government job...but not sure what I'd want to do...probably too much like my current work.

Anyway, I'm a little lost and would appreciate any career advice from someone who has broken the shackles of corporate life to find something more fulfilling. I have enough liquidity that I could likely start a small business with no need to finance anything.
My biggest goal is to make sure that I retire at 60. My family isn't traditionally very long-lived and I'd like to enjoy at least some retirement before taking the ultimate dirt nap.
Thanks.

Located: East Bay Area, California
Happy Keebing! If you'd like feedback on my services I can put you in contact with someone.
Build/Assembly Info
Main Tools: Hakko FX888D Soldering Station, Hakko FR301 Desoldering
Soldering Work - actively updating
- Stabilizer Modding: 205g0

Soldering/Desoldering Services	Cost	Other Services	Cost
<40%	$30	Millmax <40%	$50
60-65%	$40	Millmax 60-65%	$60
75%/TKL	$50	Millmax 75%/TKL	$70
TKL+	$60	Millmax TKL+	$90
Desolder	Same as solder cost	Stab Modding	$15
		Through-hole Builds	Starts at $150 depending on size

I am not currently offering switch lubing, which is why there is no price listed for this service, since I don't have enough time for this and it makes lose my mind. Appreciate your understanding!
Full commissions are available upon request, please send me a pm to discuss these!
Notes:

• Please clean or use compressed air on your build before sending it!
• Please only send me the necessary items for your build i.e. if I'm building up your pcb and not the entire board then there's no need to send me the case!
• If there are any kit damages that are present upon arrival, it will be noted and confirmed.
• You are required to ensure the functionality of the PCB, this will be re-tested when it is received. If any problems arise, you will be notified.
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• Please provide at least 5 extra switches in case of defects or switch issues.
• Please provide correct size and amount of stabs and your modification preferences (default will be my method).
• All switches will be lubed in my method unless discussed.
  
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Hi! I've run this by functional and western doctors alike and always get scoffed at. Some basic facts first:

• I have endometriosis and fluctuate with estrogen dominance (I know this through hormonal testing)
• I have had seasonal (mainly Spring but also Fall) allergies since I can remember though the actual huffing and puffing has gotten better as I've aged (30F)
• I live in the US (important to know for seasonality)

I know there is a relation to allergies / histamine and estrogen dominance and that both are entwined in a vicious cycle. My question: does anyone with endometriosis notice that they gain weight (5-15 pounds) while not changing anything in their diet and physical activity regimen every Spring and it tends to stay on through Summer? Then, around late October it starts magically coming off and by December and January I'm down some significant poundage? It comes on overnight and there is no way to lose it and then it vanishes overnight once it gets cold and all the plants are dead.
Worse PMS symptoms (fatigue, headaches, bloating, acne, breast pain, brain fog) also accompany the warmer months for me.
It has to be related to histamine, right? I don't have drastic symptoms of histamine intolerance like rashes so I've found protocols for that haven't helped a ton. Anti-histamines cause weight gain + don't seem to help PMS symptoms at all. I'm just at a loss. Any tips? Please do not suggest birth control or any type of hormone supplementation bc they always make things worse for me.
Xx

My family and I are in the process of relocating from NJ to Maryland in June, and we're actively researching elementary school options for our children. However, we're facing a dilemma regarding one of our kids, who recently received acceptance into the NYC nest program, specifically designed to serve students with autism.
We're conflicted about whether to stay in New York, as both his current preschool staff and prospective school staff have spoken highly of the nest program, emphasizing its excellence and the challenge of securing acceptance. However, it's worth noting that the NYC school where he was accepted into the nest program will be implementing it for the first time this year.
If we move to Maryland, our plan was to enroll him in a "mainstream" class or the equivalent of an Integrated Co-Teaching (ICT) class.
We're torn between the NYC nest program and exploring a new school in Maryland. Any insights or advice would be greatly appreciated as we navigate this decision.

My family and I are in the process of relocating from NJ to Maryland in June, and we're actively researching elementary school options for our children. However, we're facing a dilemma regarding one of our kids, who recently received acceptance into the NYC nest program, specifically designed to serve students with autism.
We're conflicted about whether to stay in New York, as both his current preschool staff and prospective school staff have spoken highly of the nest program, emphasizing its excellence and the challenge of securing acceptance. However, it's worth noting that the NYC school where he was accepted into the nest program will be implementing it for the first time this year.
If we move to Maryland, our plan was to enroll him in a "mainstream" class or the equivalent of an Integrated Co-Teaching (ICT) class.
We're torn between the NYC nest program and exploring a new school in Maryland. Any insights or advice would be greatly appreciated as we navigate this decision.

All of my memories are so vivid; so complete. Even now I remember the time I spent with you.
I remember coming back from spring break in 1997. My dad dropped me off early; like 1:00 in the afternoon. I sat in my room for three hours or so, waiting for you to come back (to me). When that phone finally rang, I jumped up and ran to it.
I remember playing it cool as I walked down the stairs. For some reason, I took the “A” side stairs down. I caught you with the mod door open and I met your mother, and your grandparents (your mother’s parents).
You had a small basket of candy for me; mostly jellybeans (because those have always been my favorite). I was well on my way to becoming a regular in your family. I had met your sister before Valentine’s Day and your father when he picked you up at the beginning of Spring Break. I had met your aunt (the lawyer) years before as she was the legal advisor for my high school mock trial team in 1993.
Small world.
I remember that you didn’t have any classes on Fridays that quarter. To me, that meant that we could hang out later in your room and you wouldn’t struggle through class the next day. You now allowed me to join you and your friend (who had introduced us two-and-a-half-months prior) to watch ER in your room instead of it just being “girls-night”.
She stopped hanging out after the second week of that and I started spending Thursday thru Saturday nights with you in your bed. It was an extra-long twin, but it was still a twin. We were both pretty skinny back then (I may have put on a few pounds since then).
I remember that night on April 19th, when your pants finally came off all the way and Enigma: Cross Of Changes stopped being loud enough to cover the noises I caused you to make.
I remember when we skipped class that day in May and sat on College Green heckling brother Jed and sister Cindy. The way you were sitting, cross-legged, left a funny sunburn pattern on your legs. You let me put aloe on your burns.
I remember when you were sick. I don’t know if you were feeling anxious or if it was a bad mental health day that made you feel physically ill. I came to you in the afternoon, and you gave me your debit card and PIN number to go up to Bagel Street and get you a Bobcat on a pretzel bagel because you hadn’t eaten all day. I delivered it to you, brought you a bottle of water and sat with you to take care of you.
I remember helping you set up your junior show; carrying pieces and shuffling pedestals and helping adjust the lights so they hit the pieces just so. I remember the night of the show, I stood by and watched everyone “ooh” and “aah” over your work. I remember feeling pride at being at your side.
I remember how amazing that time was. I remember the joy of the process of actively knowing you. I remember the love. I remember the joy. I remember the peace.

Do not say T-Rex. T-Rex has atrocious vibes.
Howdy, I'm C. I grew up on a farm in the 757 and still live there, but I work with books now. I got my degree in archeology and did work as an archeologist for a bit, but wasn't up for the hotel-hopping life that was going with it. Ever waited in line to microwave your frozen dinner? It wears down on you after a while.
Anyway, I'd like to live a life of finding the excitement in quiet things - plants coming up from seed, clouds parting over valleys, snow falling early in the morning, etc. I'm not the partying kind. We don't have to get hitched, but it would be neat to find someone similar to talk to and do stuff with for a while. I will say this - I'm really, really bad at getting to know people through text. Voice chats are where it's at and voice chats while playing a game or watching something would be even better. I'm happy to text for a bit and exchange pics before jumping into a call, if you'd prefer.
Basic stats:
5'8" 173 lbs. white blue eyes glasses tendency to lose my glasses
Activities:
Reading hiking biking kayaking museums botanical gardens trying new cuisines cooking gardening rock climbing (don't currently live close to a gym, but would love to get back into it)
Games:
Anything with a board, cards, or dice Minecraft Stardew Valley Europa Universalis Age of Empires Star Wars Battlefront II (the OG one)
Rabbit holes:
History mythology archeology geology Lord of the Rings Star Wars
Values:
Pro-LGBTQIA+ rights pro-choice atheist smoke-free (stuff stinks yo)
Ambitions:
Reach my goal weight (down 27 lbs. so far this year, 13 pounds to go) make it to Greece and climb Mt. Olympus finally decide what I want to be when I grow up move to a cabin in Vermont and raise moose for a living

she's about 138lbs at 5'4 and has recently told me she wants to lose another 20 to get down to 115. Before we met she said she used to weigh 55lbs more than she does now. I dont know how she managed to lose that much considering she doesn't eat that healthy and isn't very active but regardless im supportive of her trying to get healthier. albeit before we started dating when she first told me about her weight loss and that she wanted to lose more I said she didnt need to. but now that she's mentioned it again I agreed with her and said "honestly 115 would be perfect for your height" she also recently seemed annoyed when I explain to her that she just needs to drink more water and use less butter when she cooks. AIW for supporting her weight loss?

Are you hydrating (water)? Did you remember to eat (more than a snack. Actual food)? We both know you have the tendency to think, and over think. It's ok though. I have a plan. Wink-wink. It's so therapeutic, fun, freeing, and liberating to simply feel. Your happiness, wants, needs, and joy all matter. We both know you don't know how to make this a "thing". You want/need help and that's OK. Take a deep breath. Slowly in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth. Today just took a turn for the absolute best.
Self-love/care is my number one priority daily. When I'm my best me, all those attached to, and connected to me benefit. Mind, body, and energy must be taken care of. The world needs the best version of me. I have to move, be active. Calisthenics (body weight exercises) is my favorite way to move by body. I dance too. Avid reader. Frequent rock, paper, scissor player. Music sharer, and proud dad joke teller. I often pretend I'm on 'Chopped', and I think I could beat Bobby Flay. I think cooking together is not just adorable but also an amazing way to spend quality time with your person.
The smell of the rain before it comes, and my first sip of oolong tea in the morning are two of my favorite things. I've learned to be kind and gracious with me. The world can be a challenging place, BUT I know the universe wants us to win. Along, with proper hydration and eating be nice to you.
I understand the importance of open/honest communication, trust, and chemistry. PPD (Proud Plant Dad). I understand and appreciate consent. I have a significant amount of experience in bdsm/kink. D/s (bedroom only and 24/7). The ability to share our thoughts/feelings is vital. Creating a space for you to shut off your mind. No judgment, no fear. There's my sensual, nurturing, caring, kind, affectionate, forehead kisses, CUDDLES, aftercare, and protection nature. Then, there's my primal, savage, animalistic, powerful, strong, authoritative, firm, and disciplinarian nature. If at any point you laughed, smiled, and/or smirked, you have to message me. It's the rules, lol. I'd love to hear the last song you listened to. Music is so powerful, expressive, and connecting. I'm so excited to chat with you. Being you is more than enough. No pressure, no rush. Let's just chat. Talk to you soon.

Hi! I only read out of this app but today’s different. I’m attempting to create my own story - a romantic one. Take a chance on this post, perhaps?
About me: - Softie with fem tendencies who’s shy and quiet on first meetings (but that’s just because my social anxiety is trying hard to come off as cool & collected) - Physical features: 5’6 (168cm), fair complexion, almond eyes with ~kind of~ defined lips, no facial hair, has an apparent jawline, shows dimples when smiling/laughing andddd chubby (Uniqlo crew neck t-shirt XL chubby for reference) but with somehow defined body due to keeping an active lifestyle for the past year. - Black cat personality in public (aloof, calm, collected, shows little to no emotions, tends to be a wallflower, observant and won’t talk unless it’s relevant or needed) - Golden Retriever personality with very close friends and in situations I feel most comfortable in (goofy, energetic, a joker and a conversationalist whose always first to speak up) - Probinsyano na nasa Manila every weekdays as a corpo slave - Generally introverted and a home-buddy (enjoys board games, likes to experiment when cooking, loves to drive and do mundane errands alone, prefers staying in on Fri/Sat nights - can’t think of anything more atm but you get the vibe hahaha) - Has Gen - Z wit, humor and antics acc to the judging panel (my bestfriends) - Not sexually active and not sexually driven. Iced coffee hydrates me everyday. :-) - Loves to explore restos and food (I tend to catch up with my friends over coffee and good food)
About you: - Minimum around my age (capped at early 30s) - Around my height or more - Lives around Metro Manila or near provinces - Not necessarily established now (I’ll make space for you to figure yourself out in this economy) but is driven to be independent and self sustaining in the long run - Knows how to listen and communicate mentally and emotionally (after all, healthy communication is 🔑) - Can fit and understand my introverted tendencies and hobbies (expect that I’ll reciprocate!)
Anddddd of course, there’s more to know about me and about you if you send me an introduction of your own to get the conversation started!
See you in my messages! 😄

In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, handwashing has become a crucial aspect of everyday life, playing a pivotal role in preventing the spread of infectious diseases. However, handwashing practices have evolved significantly over time, influenced by various factors such as advancements in science, technology, and public health initiatives. In this article, we'll explore how handwashing has changed since COVID-19 and delve into the health benefits of this simple yet effective hygiene practice.

Historical Perspective: Origins of Handwashing

Handwashing dates back centuries, with historical records indicating its use in ancient civilizations such as Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Rome. However, it wasn't until the 19th century that handwashing gained recognition as a critical component of disease prevention, thanks to the pioneering work of individuals like Ignaz Semmelweis and Florence Nightingale. Semmelweis, a Hungarian physician, observed a significant reduction in maternal mortality rates when healthcare workers practiced hand hygiene, leading to the implementation of handwashing protocols in medical settings.

The Impact of COVID-19 on Handwashing Practices

The COVID-19 pandemic brought renewed attention to the importance of handwashing as a frontline defense against infectious diseases. Public health authorities and organizations worldwide, including the World Health Organization (WHO) and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), emphasized the importance of thorough handwashing with soap and water as a simple yet effective measure to prevent the transmission of the coronavirus. As a result, hand hygiene became ingrained in daily routines, with individuals and communities adopting rigorous handwashing practices to protect themselves and others from COVID-19.

Technological Advances: Innovations in Hand Hygiene

Advancements in technology have played a significant role in enhancing hand hygiene practices in recent years. The development of touchless handwashing stations, sensor-activated faucets, and antimicrobial soaps has made handwashing more convenient, efficient, and hygienic. These innovations not only encourage compliance with hand hygiene guidelines but also help reduce the transmission of harmful pathogens in various settings, including healthcare facilities, schools, workplaces, and public spaces.

Health Benefits of Handwashing

1. Reduces the Spread of Infections: Proper handwashing is one of the most effective ways to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, including respiratory infections like the common cold, flu, and COVID-19. By removing germs and bacteria from the hands, handwashing helps break the chain of transmission and protects both individuals and communities from illness.
   
2. Prevents Foodborne Illnesses: Handwashing is essential in food preparation and handling to prevent contamination and reduce the risk of foodborne illnesses. By washing hands before cooking, handling food, and eating, individuals can minimize the transfer of harmful bacteria and pathogens from their hands to food items, thereby safeguarding against foodborne diseases.
   
3. Promotes Personal Hygiene: Handwashing is a fundamental aspect of personal hygiene that contributes to overall health and well-being. Clean hands not only prevent the transmission of germs but also help individuals maintain cleanliness and freshness, reducing the risk of skin infections, odors, and other hygiene-related issues.
   
4. Supports Respiratory Health: Proper hand hygiene, particularly during cold and flu seasons, can help protect respiratory health by reducing the spread of respiratory viruses and bacteria. Regular handwashing with soap and water, especially before touching the face, can help prevent respiratory infections and alleviate symptoms associated with respiratory illnesses.
   

Conclusion

In conclusion, handwashing has undergone significant transformations in response to evolving scientific knowledge, technological advancements, and public health priorities. The COVID-19 pandemic served as a catalyst for reinforcing the importance of hand hygiene in disease prevention and highlighted the critical role of handwashing in safeguarding public health. By embracing modern handwashing practices and understanding the health benefits of this simple yet powerful hygiene habit, individuals can protect themselves and others from infectious diseases and promote overall well-being.

I (M24) am starting to feel things decline with my wife (F27). We’ve been together going on 8 years total and married for 3. Recently I’ve felt a disconnect growing from her within myself. She has seemed to have hit a plateau emotionally, professionally, and physically. She used to be bubbly, out going, hard working (on personal and professional goals) among many other great traits! But in the last 18 months she’s been lackluster in many aspects of her life and she’s mentioned it even, but hasn’t changed her actions/approach. She’s become more lackadaisical with her responsibilities at work and home. She has stopped picking up after herself, won’t make time for us (she’ll sit on the couch or where I’m at for 1.5 hours after I get home from work on her phone and barely make small talk). She never stops complaining about controllable adult situations such as finances, employment satisfaction, her lack of hobbies, etc. I’ve tried my best to help her where I can but it turns into me just doing it all for her because she can’t commit to something. She has also emotionally taken a turn in the same timeframe, I’ve done everything to try and help her on my own and offered to assist her in finding professional help (she’s on my insurance which has great benefits for counseling). She has declined multiple times and has not shown any course of action to better herself for the sake of us and our infant child. For reference I had messed up 2.5 years ago and sought emotional comfort outside of our marriage in an inappropriate manner. It was addressed, I sought help and guidance, have stayed the course and worked on constantly improving for us in all aspects of my life in ways that I can. We’ve talked about my commitment to that, how she appreciates and notices it but also how she wishes she could be like that in the sense of making changes. Again, she hasn’t shown any intent on working on it. I’ve reached a point now that I feel as though I don’t want to continue this and raise a child in this environment. I grew up in a “we’re married for the kids” house and it seemed worse than some of my friends had it with divorced parents. I just can’t fathom how it has come to this point. I never thought that I would be here, we’ve had our lows and fights but we’ve always talked and worked through it all. I just know that in her state at the moment if I tell her where I’m at mentally, she won’t sit and talk it out like an adult with me…she’ll just shut down. Anytime the discussion isn’t focused on me and my actions she shuts down mentally and has a tantrum like a child, yelling and screaming not allowing me to speak. While I think the pregnancy hasn’t helped her, like you’ve mentioned, this started before it. It curbed slightly during pregnancy but then she has made a full regression. I’ve truly tried time and again to address it and get her to help herself whether that’s encouragement and guidance from friends, family, etc. or myself (no one can make her do anything but herself). While I agree that some relationships can suffer strain from an introduction of a child or other major life changes, after the first two months of bringing our child home we’ve mostly gone back to our normal routine of going out together on day dates or out to activities we enjoy. So it’s not that we don’t make time to date each other it just feels as though it’s under appreciated. I do a majority of the chores around the house as well. I cook all my own meals (she wants to cook and eat the same 3 unhealthy meals week after week), I do nearly all of the cleaning (you name it…kitchen, family room, bathrooms, bedrooms, dishes, baby bottles, her car, yard work,…etc), and we split the care taking of our child evenly (she takes care of them in the morning before work, I take care of them in the evening after work). I truly just feel lost at what else to do. We’ve talked about post partum and she’s been asked several times when seeing her provider for follow ups post birth, but doesn’t feel as though she has any issues. Do I endure the emotional emptiness that is setting in from the disconnect between my wife and I for the sake of our child or do I address this further and put it all in limbo knowing the outcome more than likely means us separating…I just don’t know. Separating would almost certainly mean I stay where I’m at and continue life as normal and fight for custody of my child as financially, I’m established and can support myself. Whereas my wife enjoys the comfort of my contributions to the house hold and if left to her own income would struggle to pay for her car, student loans, and handful of personal bills let alone a place of her own. This would more than likely lead her to move back to where she’s from to be with family which is half way across the country and would fight to take our child there. Being that far away would absolutely decimate me and moving back there myself would be an absolute step back in my life and hinder personal and professional growth that would ultimately support my child. I just want to do what’s best for our child…How would you proceed?
TL:DR: I have a growing emotional disconnect with my wife over the last 1.5 years as she’s changed, not for the better.

Our 8 month old mini poodle has refused all dog food for 8 days. I have tried 4 different foods including, kibble, kibble with broth, refrigerated food, canned food, and cooked chicken with veggies. He eats about a tablespoon per day. The vet drew labs and gave him an appetite stimulant which has made no difference. I can get him to eat plain cooked chicken occasionally, but he is even refusing his treat ball which he used to love. His activity level is still normal, he drinks, pees, and poops normally. Anyone else had this issue?

So, I have no idea why, but I felt a need to explain and describe how I set up biomes in Wyrlde. So, sorry -- brevity is not a strong suit of mine.
Part of why this matters is that I am creating a list of critters for each biome (including birds, fish, insects, and even monsters) and determining how it works. I get to do this because rather than being an 'evolved' world, it is a terraformed planet at its underlying core, and the wildlife that inhabits it is derived from the seed material that arrived long long ago in an age lost to time.
I already know the basic biomass metrics (did them in January) so the overall process of doing this is giving me a lot of stuff t think on, since I am not planning to "keep to the basics of earth" in terms of the natural world.
But I am going to stay "somewhat close" -- lions will still be around in areas that lions are, tigers in tiger areas, beas in bear areas, etc.
So, for my biomes, the first thing I did was define my climate regions: Cold, Cool, Warm, and Hot -- translatable to Arctic, Temperate, Sub-Tropical, and Tropical. this was key since I am simplifying in many respects.
next, I needed my core biome groups: Tundra/Alpine, Grasslands, Forests, Wetlands, Deserts, Steppe, Oceanic, Riparian, and Mediterranean are pretty common, but I also like to add in a "Cove" and a "croft" -- areas that are marked changes from the surrounding area like sheltered valleys and then any place where people have an active influence on the ecology (such as farms, towns, cities, etc).
I also needed terms for them that worked for the world, lol. So I have Frigid, Grasslands, Forests, Wetlands, Steppe, Deserts, Oceanic, Riparian, Sylvan, Sheltered, and Croft.
Now, Frigid areas are fairly limited -- only going to find them on mountains and then north of the Arctic Circle. The same applies to the Sylvan areas -- they are mostly going to be along the border area between temperate and Sub-tropical.
But the rest can happen in different areas. And so for the rest of them, there is a Cool, Cold, Warm, and Hot version of each, and they all have their own names. Swamp, Bog, Moor, Chaparral, etc.
This gives me:
Frigid -- Arctic, Alpine, Taiga, Tundra
Sylvan -- Sylvan, Idyl
Grasslands -- Moor, Meadow, Prairie, Savanna
Forests -- Forest, Woodland, Rainforest, Jungle
Wetlands -- Bog, Fen, Marsh, Swamp
Steppe -- Highland, Scrubland, Shrubland, Veldt
Deserts -- Barrens, Chaparral, Desert, Sand Sea
Riparian -- Lake, River, Oasis, Spring; (this is always close in to the area)
Sheltered -- Glen, Dale, Vale, Cove/Grotto
Oceanic -- Littoral, Benthic, Pelagic, Bathylgic, Benthic (Set up by proximity to shore and Depth; The Oceans on Wyrlde are comparatively shallow, settling in at 6400 feet deep maximum)
Agarthan -- this is set up for the "underworld', and includes Caves, Caverns, and Agarthan.
Croft -- Crop, Range, Orchard, Settled, Ruined
So we have just under 50 distinct Biomes.
As I collect my animal listings, i should note that I am sorting them according to the category, not the specific biome. So an animal that is found in temperate areas can be found across all the world within that range. A sub tropical animal the same -- provided they can be fit into the ecology of that area.
It also means I get to have some fun -- what does a Fen Badger look like? How did they adapt to the swampy conditions? What does a Desert Wolf survive on?
By having a really good idea of the particulars of each of my areas, I am able to start applying creativity that still works within the structure to do things like have a Sand Crocodile, or a Bog Raven, and so forth.
And my examples show some of the limitations that this will help me overcome -- By ignoring "continent of origin", and looking strictly at the biome and the types of animals that exist there, I can mix and match things much more effectively, such as having Lions, and Wolves, and Bears all be a real threat in a Woodland, Scrubland, or Meadow.
So, that's an example of how I approach world building in general -- a bit of grounding and then a lot of imagination -- but I work to create the foundation, the infrastructure, to support my imagination as I go.

My partner is amazing. He is incredibly responsible and generous in so many ways in our relationship. But simply put, he is a complete slob and I despair over the fact that I will spend my life living with his filthy habits. By the way we are both approaching 40.
Most of our fights are about the same thing: how much time I spend cleaning and how little time he spends on it. We've devised several lists and charts to keep him on track with his chores: doing dishes once a week (I do them every day), cleaning the bathroom once a week (for him this means only the toilet and sink, I do the rest), and vacuuming once a week. Altogether this would eat up no more than an hour of his week, but after two weeks none of it matters, he goes back to his usual habits of doing just about nothing.
He is genuinely trying to be better, but he literally does not see mess and it drives me nuts. A dirty toilet looks the same as a clean one to him. I don't understand it, and my sympathy for his condition has about run out. The only way to get him to consistently clean is for me to directly tell him to clean something and how, and make him do it in the moment, or he will forget. I hate that I have to nag him like he is a child to simply spend 10 minutes a week helping us keep our space clean. I hate that I am the only one keeping an eye on the household and planning meals and cleaning. If I don't stay on top of it I live in filth. If I don't meal plan and make time in my day to cook, we eat carrots and chips for dinner.
I recently came back from a 9 day vacation to find the dishes I had washed before I left still on the drying rack. The dishes were piled high in the sink and on the counters. I spent two days working through them and at the bottom of the pile I found my beloved cast iron, rusting and full of rotten meat scraps. He literally didn't clean once during the time I was gone and I spent many hours catching up trying to get the place in decent shape before I even unpacked.
There are a few spaces in his life that have been "his spaces" and not mine and I therefore don't comment on them until I reach my breaking point. One of these is his car. When it got to the point where being the passenger meant sitting ankle-deep in trash, and kicking trash out of the car each time I got in and out, which I then I had to get out and retrieve and put back in the car...then I finally asked him to clean it out. He is also not allowed to use the mugs in our house because he will bring them in his car to work and forget about them until he has a stash of 12 mugs full of mold stashed around his car. He uses semi-disposable cups for coffee now. He can't own thermoses because he will forget them and they will mold.
Another space is the office at his family's outbuilding that is his remote workspace. I avoided visiting him there if possible. He never once cleaned it. Every surface is piled with papers, old mugs, crumpled receipts, etc etc and most of the floor is taken up with random junk, boxes, baskets, clocks that don't. work, random shoes, endless crap. It shocks me that he thinks it's okay to keep a space he is being generously allowed to use in such a condition. He was recently asked to clean it up by his family members. It took him about 6 hours. Tidying my office takes me about 4 minutes tops.
Finally, his other office. We bought a house and have been renting it out but he keeps an office in the laundry room. He has never cleaned it in 2 years. Under the desk and in the corners there are these eddies of dirt, literally piles of dirt and peanut shells and trash and objects that may have once been useful (sponges, pencils, handkerchiefs) that are now dirty and broken from being on the floor and stepped on. There are power tools everywhere on the ground and plenty of stuff to trip over. The trash can has no liner and is literally piled high with a tower of trash that he keeps adding stuff to, which falls off creating a whole pond of trash. The pond of trash happens to be right in front of the washer and dryer that the renters use. This was a SHARED SPACE that the renters used to do their laundry. I am extremely alarmed that he sees nothing wrong with keeping a shared space in this condition. When I bring it up to him, he acts defensive and makes me "take ownership of my feelings" and be clear that I want it cleaned, like it's some particular need of mine to not exist in pure squalor.
I can't make him see that this is completely unacceptable and disrespectful to those he shares spaces with. He insists on this being just a difference between us, like "well we each have our opinions." No. There comes a point at which a space is actively dysfunctional and you are destroying your actual things due to this dysfunction.
I also hate how bad he is at caring for his stuff. Multiple times he has ruined furniture, dishes, etc. by leaving them out in the rain, rotting in a garage, or in a pile of garbage. I hate that we then end up with piles of crap we have to take to the dump.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way.
Being a PI sucks. It’s not what you think. It’s pretty much harassing women. Men hire PIs to go harass their wives and girlfriends and once in a blue moon you get asked to find a missing dog, or to harass a man instead. But that’s it, really. Sometimes I’m looking for hard evidence of infidelity, but a lot of the time my clients just want to rattle the soon-to-be-ex. To make them paranoid and jittery and less reliable in a courtroom, or less likely to pay attention to small print agreements that stiff them out of the holiday home. So that’s my job. I’m a pawn and it is almost always on behalf of the kind of men who think women reading a book in public are secretly looking for male attention.
I don’t have an office. I did for a short while. But things are tough, as I’m sure many of you know, and PI work isn’t exactly lucrative. I don’t know why I’m still doing this job, except to say I’m my own boss, and it’s not easy out there. I went into this with vastly different expectations. If anyone wants to hire someone who was convicted of insurance fraud while training to be a police officer, let me know. Otherwise I’m on my own, following people in cars and sleeping in dingy motels. So when this new job came along, a craigslist ad looking for a guy to stalk them, I just figured it was a fetish thing. I got a nephew who went to art school and makes big bucks painting cartoon characters doing fucked up stuff. He ain’t painting the Sistine Chapel, but he pays the bills and looks after his family. I figure if that work is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
So I met the woman who posted the ad and was surprised at how normal she looked. It was in a public place, a park with a nice bench. And even though it was starting to rain a little we didn’t let it bother either of us. We sat there, two tape recorders running, and hashed it out. She said she liked me. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have gotten out of her car. That was flattering coming from her. Good looking woman. Professional. I didn’t know at the time but I’d quickly figure out she was a forensic accountant.
Anyway, we got talking. She never gave me her motivation, but I would later come to understand her as an amateur narcissist. She was new at loving herself. She was smart, accomplished, and actually rather beautiful provided you didn’t spend a great deal of time agonising over things like symmetry or eyebrows, and instead paid attention to how a smile reaches the eyes, or how laughter sounds when it catches someone by surprise. But she grew up dirt poor and spent her teen years unable to visit the dentist, or access a gym, or even just eat home cooked food that wasn’t microwaved. Plump frame, blotchy skin, hair she kept short with a pair of scissors because her and her mother relied on the shampoo and soap they stole from the motel where they shared cleaning shifts. When she fumbled awkward questions at some of the better looking boys in her class, she rarely met with success. That’s not to say she was an outcast, either. She had a social life. It’s just poor kids have to grow up early. Prom’s a luxury. Eating isn’t. If you know, you know. Otherwise you might be surprised by just how fucking tough it can be for some kids in this country. Anyway, she got out of that hole, fought tooth and nail, got an education, a good job, and by the time she finished her victory lap and took stock of her life she was thirty-five years old and a thousand miles from the trailer she was raised in.
And she looked good. The woman in the mirror was a stranger that she wanted to get to know. I think hiring me was an act of self-love. I think if she could have, she would have sat in a car and watched herself get a cup of coffee, spying closely at the professional looking woman doing a little half-run half-skip to get out of the rain. The way she stood in line rocking back and forth on her heels to the music in her airpods thinking no one’d notice. She wanted to admire herself, but unable to time travel or clone herself, she instead resorted to hiring me as a kind of proxy.
I had my own boundaries, of course. They covered anything that was gonna get me in trouble. The gist of the contract, after a nice week spent meeting after work and talking, was that I was to follow her as often as I could and just… observe her. Photos. Videos. Secret recordings. Occasionally a little bit more. Nothing physical. For example, one time I inventoried her handbag after she left it in a taxi by accident. I’m not a photographer, but something about all those knick knacks laid out on a motel bed snapped with a black and white polaroid, it looked good. Like something you’d see in a fancy gallery. Avant garde my nephew would say. She loved it. Paid me a bonus for it and everything.
Anyway, this carried on like this for about six months. They were… interesting times. Tailing her across train stations, racing across open parking lots to install a tracker on her car, standing on a bridge and dropping an air tag in her bag as she walked past. It was a little bit like being a spy. She even paid for me to buy high end equipment. Crazy stuff. One camera, I could sit on my balcony and read the texts on her phone from a block away. Occasionally there were days where I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up the required intensity. Stalking requires a lot of cardio. When that happened, when I didn’t feel like following her into a crowded place, or sprinting half-way around town following her car, I’d do research. I’d investigate who this woman had once been. I created fake Facebook profiles and tracked down old school friends, spoke to former teachers, lovers, all of that. The whole job was a matter of mapping her out, like she was a country, you know? And a country isn’t just hills and rivers and borders. Countries have history.
She was happy with my initiative. The text she sent me when I showed her the research folder was a glowing commendation. First one I’d had in a long time. It was nice, someone telling me good job. She had a real way of making me feel like a kid getting a gold star. I didn’t realise at the time, but I was putty in her hands. Head over heels, bless my stupid heart. Of course I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I’d had just enough time to grow over confident. I made the mistake of thinking that I wasn’t gonna find anything in her past that’d give me trouble sleeping.
Boy did I get that one fucking wrong.
Her mother. That’s where things took an odd turn. Now I knew from news reports the mother died in their trailer while her daughter was off staying at some boyfriend’s place for a few days. Natural causes, it read. I wanted to know a little more about what natural causes they were. Figured if there was a congenital thing, it seemed like maybe I ought to know. You’d think the way the trailer park owner reacted to me asking about it, I’d tried asking the Russian government for proof of a democratic election. Thin reedy little woman who gave me hell the moment I mentioned a name. What do you wanna know that for? Who’s asking? Who’s paying you? Why you wanna dig this shit up?
Oh she ripped me to pieces. I put it down to the natural sprinkling of crazies in the standard population and took a different tact. Started calling up the older folks in the park. Residents. Every single one of them put the phone down on me the second I mentioned her name.
Well, all of them except one.
Some people wanna talk and this old bastard was one of them. He had a lot to say about everything from the president to social media and I let him ramble on before starting to press my point. Told him at the start I was a historian looking into the local area, that made it so it wasn’t too suspicious when I began asking about this and that. Slowly making my way to the death of a fifty-three year old woman a couple trailers down from him some years ago.
Again, soon as I mentioned her name, there was a change in the air, even over the phone. For a second I thought this old guy was gonna hang up just like the others. Could hear him smacking his dry lips as he mulled it over.
“Francine didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he said after a while. “She wasn’t a good woman. Didn’t treat her daughter too good neither. But didn’t deserve what happened. Maybe if they’d found her earlier, some of those fellas in white coats could’ve got more evidence, put that little wretch of hers away. But from what I understand, weren’t much left of her at all.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with a whole lot of questions.
This frustrated me. I had, until now, had a fair bit of luck at this new profession of mine. They say be careful what you get good at. Sad truth was, I was getting good at stalking and this was my first real roadblock. I remembered the way I felt when she told me good job and it bothered me I couldn’t really say much about this critical part of her life. That and, well, maybe I still got a chip on my shoulder about being a failed policeman. If you give me a problem, I can sometimes drive myself crazy looking for a fix.
So I hopped in my car and drove to the trailer park, damn near on the other side of the country. Don’t know I was hoping to find. No way the trailer was still there, and it wasn’t. But what I found odd was the lot hadn’t been replaced. There was a hole in the ground, about the right size, and nothing else. Just an empty spot where the trailer had once stood. And the trailers on either side weren’t occupied either. I could tell by politely and legally looking through the windows. Most of them were cleared out, but a few weren’t. They still had plates and other knick knacks left hanging around, like the owners had left without bothering to pack.
“You shouldn’t hang around there, mister.”
The girl who appeared stood a good twenty feet away, shouting over the wind so as to be heard.
“Smell can make you awful sick.”
I wrinkled my nose, aware of the odour she was talking about. Had been since I approached the empty lot. A faint musty smell that made me think of an exotic pet shop.
“What do you mean?”
“Smell makes you sick,” she said like it was self-explanatory. “Woman who died there left behind an awful stench. Made the neighbours sick. And the neighbour’s neighbours, and so on for a couple trailers in a row. No one likes to live there now. Still can’t. Had a couple move in a year or two back and they got sick too. Daddy says it’s a bad one. Not even rats go near that hole.”
The smell wasn’t pretty, but this trailer park looked like the kinda place where hubcaps went missing regularly. Figured they would’ve been used to bad smells. What made this one so special?
I looked over at the girl.
“Where is your dad?”
Few minutes later and I was stood outside a trailer waiting pensively. The little girl had disappeared inside to fetch her father and since then I’d been sat listening to the quietest trailer park in the whole world. Crickets and silence. Traffic on a distant highway. Place was dying, that much was clear.
When the father finally did make an appearance, he said nothing for the first few minutes. Lit a cigarette, offered me one. I refused on account of having quit some time back.
After a while he spoke up.
“I’d invite you in but if you been hanging around that old lot, not sure I want you inside my home. No offence.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Sally says you’re a historian.”
The man wasn’t terribly old. Mid-thirties, at a guess, but he looked me up and down like I was a teenager caught throwing eggs at his house.
“What’re you really?”
“PI,” I replied.
“Ha now that makes sense. Some relative looking for answers? Heard the Hendersons had a sister with money.”
“That’s exactly it,” I lied. “She didn’t buy the official story.”
“Nor should she,” he replied. “Henderson was fit as a fiddle day he moved in. Weren’t no justice in what happened to those who got sick. And poor Francine… They say she died of natural causes. Man even back then I knew it was shit and I was just a lil kid. The smell alone. Think it’s bad now but at the time, before they came in with a crane to lift the trailer up whole and move it to the dump. Shit it was something awful. There was talk of moving the whole park. Course no one gave enough of a shit about us to go ahead and actually do it.”
“What did she die of?”
“Don’t know. Only thing I am sure of is that that girl of Francine’s lied. Said her mother was live and well when she left before the weekend and they was all on good terms, but that was bullshit. We heard ‘em fighting for weeks before, for one. And of course the body, state that was in, ain’t no way it’d been rotting for just a few days.”
He offered me another cigarette. I refused. He lit it up instead. Second one in what felt like just a few minutes. Made me itchy just to see. I wanted to say something, anything to get a little bit more. But I’d told a big lie pretending to be there on someone else’s behalf, and didn’t want to catch myself out, so I just sat and listened to the quiet buzz of his little patio light.
After the second cigarette was done he reached into his back pocket and took out an old photo.
“I hope you find justice for Henderson and the rest of them,” he said. “Only real bit of proof I ever had something fishy went on.”
He handed me the picture. Wasn’t easy to see what I was looking at. Pile of old leaves, maybe. Mulch. I squinted at it for a few good seconds but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
“What…?”
“Took that the day they arrived to get rid of the trailer. Had to stand on my friend’s shoulders just to reach.”
“What is it?” I asked, my skin starting to crawl as I picked out details. Whatever I was looking at, it was slumped on a sofa with floral wallpaper in the background. It was about the size of a man, but riddled with holes and cavities the size of golf balls. In my whole life, I’d never seen something that looked like that.
“Why that’s Francine,” he said. “Or at least what was left of her.”
He let me keep the photo. At a guess, that was the only interesting thing that’d ever happened to that man and he’d been waiting to share it with someone. All I had to do was give him an excuse. He seemed to take some pleasure in passing it on. Certainly found my reaction to it amusing. I must’ve gone pale as I grappled with thoughts of what had happened to make a body go bad like that. Back in the hotel, under a good light, I checked that picture again and again. Something about it made me deeply uncomfortable. Knowing a woman was under all that… all those holes and crevices must’ve been made in her flesh. And what’d happened to her skin that’d turned it such a funny texture? Looked furry, like the kinda thing that grows on top of a long-forgotten cup of coffee.
A part of me considered asking my client about this, but I knew that wasn’t the way to go. First, she probably wouldn’t tell me good job if I had to ask. She hired me to do a certain thing and that didn’t involve politely requesting information right from the source. Second, well… I’d read the police reports, what was publicly available, anyway. And she’d made it clear she’d left on the friday and came home on the Monday and…
Well what if that guy was right? Did she really leave her mother alive and well? I mean, people kill. Not just psychos. People like you and me. We do it every day and sometimes we even pull it off. Only half of US murders get solved. That’s a fact. If anyone could be in the right half of that equation, it’d be her. She was smart as hell, my client. Even at seventeen she would’ve been a clever one. Clever enough that she might easily have been able to cover her tracks. Gone over to some boyfriend, twisted his arm into giving her an alibi. Sure, I could see that.
I just needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with that crime scene in the trailer. Thankfully I got some friends still on the force, one of which I even have a bit of leverage on. At first he couldn’t find much on the actual mother, but then I asked him to see if he could take the photo I had, show it around, and see if anyone had seen something like it before. That proved a lot more fruitful. Few days later he came back with a strange one, but straight away I saw the connection.
I’ll spare the details. Old man was found in a tub, all sorts of fucked up, in some old apartment building. It had since been condemned on account of the body which is fairly weird since bodies don’t usually cause that much fuss, but less weird when you realise that said body was in such a bad state it made three people sick and caused long-lasting structural damage. Whatever happened to this guy, it ate through the tub he’d been lying in and seeped into the floors and walls below. Turned plasterboard to shit and apparently even caused some trouble for the sturdier elements like steel and concrete. I don’t know how that works exactly, but that’s what the file said and going by the photos, I didn’t feel like anyone was lying.
As for the pictures? What can I say? Made my fucking skin crawl. No blurry little polaroid snapped by a kid. These were professional crime scene pictures that showed something in a bathtub that didn’t register as human until my eyes went looking for details. He looked like a hairy paper-wasp’s nest, only there were fingers and nipples and other little things that made it clear it had been built using a person as the framework. No face though. Just a head like a pile of used paper plates. Looking at those photos made me learn a new word just to describe how I felt. Trypophobia.
Wasn’t just the one guy either. Building was linked to the disappearance of the ground floor tenant. Some computer geek. I didn’t worry about him too much. But what did catch my eye was there was only one woman living in the whole place. Second floor apartment. The registered name was… somewhat familiar. Close enough to a certain someone’s that it raised the hairs on my neck. Police at the scene managed to get a photo of her and sure enough, there she was. My client going by a different name. Clearly something fishy was going on or else why the pseudonym? I figured it possible she’d maybe offed her own mother. Parents and spouses make the most common victims. But what connection was there to that second corpse, and what about the missing guy?
It was like a horror movie was following her around and she was just blissfully unaware. Condemned buildings and festering trailers made for a far cry from the professional accountant who enjoyed oat milk lattes and used sweetener instead of sugar to spare her teeth. But there was no denying she was the connection. There was photographic proof she’d lived in that building. If I wanted to get ahead of this, to really understand what was going on, I had to figure out what had happened to those bodies. I’d pretty much exhausted my favours with the police and truth was they didn’t know any more than I did. But it turned out the building was still standing. Condemned, but they hadn’t demolished it, partly because no one wanted to take responsibility, but I reckon it might have had something to do with the biohazard warnings slapped on every single window and door.
Good thing I’d brought a gas mask. I waited for sunset, geared up, and entered through the unlocked door. First thing that hit me as the door swung open was the smell. Similar to the trailer park but full pelt and hot as hell. Made me think of lizards and poorly kept terrariums. Strong enough to make my eyes water even through the mask. One thing was clear as I took a look around the hallway - the building was diseased. Not just rundown or decrepit like the usual urban decay. This was something else. Looked like the inside of a clogged pipe. You know how limescale fills it up? It was a bit like that. This oily rust coloured fluid had seeped down the walls and left them glistening and soft. Ropey stalactites of the stuff hung down from the ceiling like old party banners, and I edged around them afraid of what might happen if one touched me.
Best guess was that stuff was digesting the place. Anything soft or organic was going or gone. Old umbrella frames were left standing in one corner, the fabric burnt or dissolved away. The carpet was reduced to just a few patches no bigger than my hand. And a bunch of old cardboard boxes piled up under the stairs had turned squat and half-liquid, almost flowing down and around each other. The worst came when I took a look in the back room. More of a broom closet, I guess. Wouldn't have gone in but something caught my eye. A well-worn shoe that wasn’t covered in that oily shit. Sign of recent activity. That and the way the door was ajar just raised my suspicions, so I took a look.
Even now the timeline eludes me, but someone, a vagrant most likely given the way they were dressed, died a nasty death in there. Chemical burns come to mind. They were balled up in one corner, eyeless, looking up at me as I pushed the door open to take a closer look. Pink flesh threaded with red blood vessels, yellow bones poking through here and there. From the looks of things they’d been trying to work the door open. You could see a history of their escape attempts left by bleeding hands. Rust coloured finger streaks ran all along the door’s edges, special attention paid to the hinges. And he’d broken the only window and tried hauling himself up there only to realise it was barred from the other side. The jagged glass that still clung to the frame was covered in old blood. His palms must have looked like grated cheese. Eventually he’d given up and lain down in that shit and the thought of it made my chest feel heavy and tight. I’d only been in the building a few minutes and that shit was already eating through my shoes. I could hear the thick rubber soles sizzle and pop with each step. But that guy had been forced to sit down in an inch deep puddle of the stuff, likely because exhaustion had left him no choice but to tough it out. So how long had he tried staying up right?
Hours? Days? Weeks?
Him getting stuck in there had to be deliberate. I was sure of it. A feeling in my gut. Someone had locked the door behind him and left him to die slowly. God only knows why, but did that mean they were still hanging around and waiting for a chance to get to me? Looking around, I sure didn’t feel safe or alone. The shadows seemed too deep and the steady drip drip drip of that rancid oil oozing out of every surface was too monotonous. Someone or something lived in that filth and chances were they’d been responsible for that poor vagrant’s agonising death.
That meant getting out of that shithole was a priority, so I made for the stairs and started the climb. If there were any answers in that place, it’d be in the apartment where that old man died. The crime scene tape was still hanging off the door frame when I found it, and the TV and sofa, or what remained of them, stood in the same place as in the photos. Back in the day the old man had been a hoarder and I was surprised crime scene hadn’t cleared all his shit out. It was all still there, only what had once been a chest high maze of papers and magazines was now just a kind of hardened pulp, almost like magma dried mid-flow. Whole fucking place was covered in the stuff like a coral reef, growing up the walls and even patches of the ceiling. Looked a hell of a lot like a wasp’s nest, and it looked to be the source of that oily looking fluid. You could see it sweating out of every crease and fold in that strange hive. It was almost hypnotic to look at. Glistening amber beads oozing out of papery sheets that flowed like rock striata. There was a gentle, barely perceptible rhythm. Hypnotic.
I don’t know why but I reached out and ran the tip of my finger as gently as I could along the surface. It felt like the underside of a mushroom. All those papery gills. Gossamer thin. Soft and inviting. I wore no gloves and the brief moment of contact had deposited a single bead of that strange syrup on my fingertip. It caused a tingling sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Even the blood that trickled down my knuckle felt warm and wet, like testing a hot bath with your hand. I liked it. I liked it and I wanted more.
I went to reach out and push my arm into the nest when a hand burst out of the nest and gripped my wrist. I was so surprised I didn’t even make a noise, but instead wordlessly fell back as the hand pushed me away from the nest. A very nearly skinless forearm followed and soon after a face emerged from the papery nest like a grime covered nightmare. Black eyes and a lipless mouth. It was a man that could have passed for a corpse, like a half-digested piece of meat. Terrified, I struggled to my feet and realised that this person had broken damn near every bone in my wrist with that single grip.
“Your meat smells raw,” he growled before heaving himself out of the nest in a disgusting parody of childbirth.
My sanity flickered and the next thing I knew I was on the ground floor with bleeding eyes and both hands frantically pulling at the door handle. My mind returned in pieces. I blinked red tears away but didn’t stop trying to open the door. I felt it, that urgent need to leave, like a suffocating man feels the need to breathe. But I’d fucked up bad. I’d sniffed out the closet and saw the trap laid there, but hadn’t seen the larger one set for me. There was only one way in and out of that building and I hadn’t jammed the door open! Now it was shut and nothing I did could get it open. With more time maybe I could’ve pried the jamb or even kicked it down, but my heart was racing and my vision blurring. I wanted out of that place. A hot primal need to get the hell out. The air was too hot. My mask too stifling. Sweat condensed on the inner plastic and made it damn near impossible to see. And the pain in my wrist was a throbbing explosion that made sensible thought impossible. I’d realised early on into my little foray that I was underprepared, but the scale of what that meant eluded me until I was there wrestling with thoughts of exposure and contagion and disease, fumbling at a greasy doorknob with a broken hand while suppressing thoughts of what might be crawling up my leg or back or neck. Panic threatened to consume me. The world and all the normality it represented was right fucking there. I could hear it. The distant hum of traffic. The amber glow of streetlights that lit up the biohazard posters. Not thirty minutes ago I’d been there. Safe and far away from this waking nightmare.
I was being reduced to a prey animal. Even in the moment I could sense it happening to me. Being made into something lesser, but it was like my actions were no longer my own. When I finally gave up on the front door, I turned around and saw the shadows way back at the hallway begin to shift as something descended the stairwell. There was no other way out. No door. No window. Just me, a long corridor, and a nightmare coming right at me.
Something inside me gave up. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m still not sure if it was that building and that strange fluid that seemed to warp my own thoughts, or maybe there’s just too much one person can go through. But I could practically hear the thin membrane of my sanity tear as I fell backwards into the door and slid down onto my ass, breathlessly awaiting my terrible fate. I almost contemplated turning off my light but by then it was too late. I could see him coming towards me. He was legless. Nothing from the waist down except blackened viscera trailing up the stairs behind him. He pulled himself towards hand over hand with hungry eyes. Before I knew it he was on top of me, one hand gripping my mouth with a salty palm, the other stroking my hair.
And then in an instant his demeanour changed. He pulled back with a terrified cry and scrambled away like I’d just stuck him with a blade.
“No no no no no,” he muttered. “No no you should have said you should have said I didn’t know I thought you were another one I didn’t know I thought you were here for me I didn’t know you were hers.”
He cowered away, pedalling on both hands backwards while keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Tell her I did not know you were hers I could not smell until I was close very close if I hurt you I am sorry tell her I am sorry I did not mean to hurt you it is just I do not get to eat often and am always hungry.”
With a rapid gesture he threw the key for the door at me. It skittered across the floor and fell just short of my feet.
“Tell her I did not know.”
“W-w-w-what are you?” I stammered.
He looked at me curiously, stopping his retreat only briefly to gauge my expression.
“She likes to be seen but I looked without asking and I got what I deserve.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
He very nearly laughed, but with such deformities it was mostly a drooling guffaw.
“You know!” he gasped. “Don’t be stupid. You’re in love with her. Just like me. But different. You got permission. I didn’t. But she was good. She left me an old nest to live in. And I have permission to eat anything I kill or trap myself. Hard now that people know to stay away but sometimes I get lucky.”
“What has this got to do with her?” I asked.
“What colour are her eyes?” he replied, almost manic with excitement. “Answer. Answer. Tell me. Tell me. What colour are her eyes?”
“G–”
I stopped. The word felt wrong in my mouth.
“Bl–
“Bro–”
“No no,” he chittered. “None of those.”
Seemingly excited but afraid at the same time, he raced forward and gripped my lapels with twisted glee.
“Compound,” he hissed with such forbidden pleasure. “Her eyes are compound. A parasite, some might say. A symbiote, maybe. A god? Well I imagine someone somewhere has thought so. We see a person but she is not a person. She does something to our heads to make us see what isn't real. Only she doesn’t see what we see. She sees herself as she really is. But the… the glamour. The illusion. The image she puts on for us. She can’t see it. She is immune to her own beauty and it is a tragedy. She’s jealous of us, you know? She’s jealous we get to love her. She had a mother’s love once, but they aren’t maternal in the way we understand the term. A complicated relationship, I am sure. Ask her yourself while you still have her favour. She is her own favourite topic of conversation. But make sure to tell her I did not know you belonged to her when I attacked! I thought… Well I thought you were just meat, like the rest of us.”
With that he finally disappeared into the darkness and I finally summoned the willpower to grab the key and get the hell out of there.
-
“Do you think he’s up for it?”
Together we sat on a park bench. The same one we'd met at over a year ago. She looked as beautiful as ever.
“Uh, I don’t know.” I shrugged while sitting back. “His stuff is pretty avant-garde, but he could manage a straight forward bust I think.”
“It won’t be easy on him,” she said as she reached over to flick through the dossier. “I’ll have to sit for him and he’ll have to get a good look at me. Longer he stares… well I can’t guarantee when but the glamour will eventually fade.”
“No family. History of drug abuse,” I replied. “Some petty crime too. He works out of his friend’s garage. I think it’s your best shot. If he goes funny in the head, I’ll just have to take care of it. But if we’re lucky and he succeeds, what he makes will be a close approximation of how you look to us. I know I can’t… I know everything I’ve done comes close to giving a sense of how you appear to us humans but for an actual visual representation. I can’t draw for shit. And obviously photos. I mean to me they show, well, you. But my brain sees a very different you.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “You’ve done a good job.
"Besides, I prefer the version you get to see.”

Hi all 😊 I would really appreciate some recommendations.
I am working on building a summer camp-type program for about 15-20 preschool aged kids. It will not be your typical town-funded summer camp that will have opportunities to go on field trips and super fun expensive activities. This is something that quite a few families at my church who utilize the childcare facilities were interested in for their pre school aged children. We have a decent sized church and playground to utilize, but what are some budget friendly ideas and activities for this up and running summer camp?

Damaged Goods -10
Memory Transcription Subject: Annek Ugani, Skalga Armed Forces
Date [Untranslated skalgan time] Nekesh 11, 4159
I had left my translator off for take off. All the voices and chatter distracted me from the shrinking ball of mass that I had called home for so long.
It was so beautiful up here. The rolling forests and the small oceans were like blotches on a spherical canvas of cosmic proportions. It caused my tail to sway with wonder as I examined the ball through the window of the shuttle craft.
“[You cannot hide from us so easily y’know.]” Netal’s voice sounded from behind me, and my tail swayed slightly faster. Subconsciously registering the language as an indicator of species. It quickly paused its expression as the reminder that it was a human caught up to me
“[Ack- That is.. too natural for a human. Fucking with my ears.]” They flicked on cue as I swiveled to look back into the troop bay
“Baa.” Came a joking reply Lee. Did they all know Skalgan?
“[Just grow a coat already and frolic in the fields.. jeeze.]” I complained with a tail flick
“Ka shumë "baa’s" në këtë kategori gjuhësore.” A soldier beside us laughed out. Clearly reading the social situation all wrong judging by his wide scowl
The death glares which carried real weight behind them quickly turned that scowl into a submissive gesture as the soldier slinked back into his seat
I was blissfully unaware of the exchange however, drawn back into the small marble which my contact helpfully zoomed in on. Reading my intention, and prompting my tail to begin swaying again
“[Is it your first time in orbit?]” Netal asked
“[Eh.. we uh.. we came up into the stratosphere for a practice jump, but that is about it.]” I had to admit, with the language choice my brain was put much more at ease with the lieutenant. Rather than the radiant annoyance that his presence usually commanded.
“[It’s good to feel wonder.. it will quickly loose that flare once you get into orbital combat.]” Netal imparted some wisdom onto me and gave my shoulder a playful pat with his palm
“[Death deity.]” Freya called out from the other side of the aisle. “[We are beginning to dock. I would give you.. a claw before someone notices that you are not fully present. You should switch now.]”
I pressed my claw to the side of my head, and the device read my intentions as wanting to switch languages.
The chatter quickly began to sadly make sense again “Thanks..” I grumbled and turned to strap myself into my seat again
“Just looking out for you-“ Freya said with a scowl. Her “K-9” teeth had been dulled down to look like their counterparts. Although it was hard to tell what actually did that part, apparently humans do it similarly for cosmetics
“You are going to hate ship deployment I can already tell” Hark chimed in “I see the way that you run the tracks whenever you can.” He leaned across the aisle and lowered his tone “Veterans tip? Run the loader rails. The tracks are on the roof and the rounds never get low enough to hit you. Miles of track to run on some of the bigger ships.”
I indexed that one in my mind. Keeping myself active was a priority. “T..thanks.. Hark. I’ll pay for the next round to pay you off.” I offered, not wanting to have an outstanding debt to a human. Those can get dangerous.
“Deal.” He said with a shrug and pulled himself back “I was going to let you have it for free.” He could not help but add
The shuttle rumbled as it overlapped with its ship’s gravity. The mechanics of orbital retrieval must have been written and built by a madman. Most ships used an arm and lock system rather than a full runway. A space saving measure of course. However, watching the massive arms scoop up our shuttle like a small bug was scary. It was one thing to be lifted by something else’s power, but it felt different to be lifted by what was essentially a giant arm. I have no idea where this fear could have come from evolutionarily, none of our species were raised in a world where anything was bigger than us. The humans had elephants and mammoths of course, but I couldn’t imagine an elephant picking up a human
The procedure of standing in front of a ramp and yelling locations at people seemed to be a constant throughout the groups of humans. Perhaps they had a branch for that. I wouldn’t put it past them.
Netal turned to face our group as we hovered by the exit ramp “Guess who has lucky number thirteen.” He excitedly reported
“Awe nice.” Freya replied as she stepped off the ramp and onto the rubberized floor plating of the starship “Hope we get some energy from it- we have been having some pretty shit luck as of late “ Her tail twitched and shaked as it was freed from the confines of the shuttle
“If it makes you feel better there is a fat bonus and government welfare waiting for you once you leave. Free tail on the government's dime.”
“Sadly, I am never leaving. Annek would get you all killed.” Freya joked at my expense
“I think that reason is why all of us are s-staying. S-she would get herself killed if it weren’t for u-us.” Lee added on. Prompting me to show an annoyed flick of my tail towards the group
I let out a groan as I walked down the ships cooradors, and gave my leg a small shake as I felt some sort of weakness take over “Does anyone else feel.. odd?” I asked, knowing that my group would be right behind me
“Your body is reacting to the artificial gravity- you will get over it soon.” Freya helpfully noted. “There is a whole bunch of physics and- math connected to it but.. who cares about that stuff.”
The rooms were large common areas with sleeping pods around the edge, much like a college room dorm. The room itself could accommodate at least two squads but we had it all to ourselves.
“Now this is the gold in the suck.” Netal noted as he stretched arms and tail out. As if to say that he was enjoying the spare room.
“Usually they just leave out a couple bags of salad for us to munch on. Perhaps the chefs here actually have their shit together?” Hark noted as he extended one of the mattresses out and plopped himself onto it with a sigh
“Maybe our transformations are so complete, they can’t even tell we’re human!” Freya joked as she did much the same as Hark
“D-don’t e-even joke about that!” Lee whined “I am already f-freaked out when they offered to t-transplant fur..”
“Yeah Freya- you know better than to joke about that.” Netal agreed with Lee
“Sorry..” she said in a quiet tone
Whenever they got into these conversations, I felt like an alien. More so than the normal feeling of being an alien. Seeing how I am in fact an alien.
“I eh.. hope that they can do some good Skalgan cooking here.” I commented, trying to till the auditory void
“All your dishes are raw, what are you talking about.” Came the reply from Netal
“Well before the reversal yes but- I mean now that we can actually enjoy food now.” I said
“Venlil can enjoy food..-
“Well yes but, we, do it better. Like a lot of things.”
“I’ve worked with a lot of Venlil and all of them were competent. I dunno where you’re getting your experience from.” Netal questioned me as he set down his equipment onto the floor
“I have my reasons.” Came my cold reply
“Okay.. you are allowed to do that. Just don’t let it affect your work.” Netal accepted with a grumble. Everyone had gone from playful to tired in what felt like a second. Not even the room's acoustics could fully adjust. Leaving the air cold and bare.
Even in basic, we would quietly banter to each other to keep sane. This absolute silence was.. uncomfortable. Especially for someone with my amplified ears. The engine noise and boot falls from outside sounded like cold interjections to a dark contemplation.
First Next

I don't feel like I have anyone to talk to. Maybe I feel embarrassed and don't want my marriage to be a failure. I've been married to my husband for several years and we have a child who's young. I got married young and luckily am still young; not 30 yet.
In a relationship I believe you should be loving, supportive, do your best to make the other person happy and life not stressed. I don't care for drama, stupid arguments, being rude and petty. I eat healthy and exercise, take care of my skin/hair so that I'm physically attractive to my partner, which I know looks aren't the most important, but I try to make sure physically and as a human being I'm doing my best. I love giving affection and receiving it, I value family, etc. I don't want to be married where that's one sided.
My husband has always been emotionally immature. It's my fault I married him. I was wanting to be loved or what I thought was love and I wanted to be wanted. I was very young and he was the second person I had ever been with. I was also very much a push over and I tolerated his anger problems and his entitlement complex. I grew up in toxic environment with my parent (single family household and I was not in contact with my other parent. They moved on with their life)who was always yelling or angry about something stupid and I would have to always dismiss it. My siblings and I would vent to each other and then move on. This was my entire childhood along with them getting remarried all the time . Maybe that made me treat dysfunction like white noise and just "deal with it".
We had sex a lot and he was affectionate, but was very immature and angry about dumb things. We got engaged and I wanted to wait to get married. He told me I didn't truly love him, how I was hiding him from my family, how I was embarrassed to be with him and that's why. I gave in and we got married. We couldn't afford an actual wedding so we skipped that and got married.
It only got worse. The sex stopped or was rare. He'd reject me or fall asleep during sex, he stopped taking care of his appearance. He stopped being affectionate. I got pregnant around 8 months after being married. I worked until about a week before I gave birth and everyday I got home from work I had to clean, cook, and take care of the dog we had at the time because if I wasn't done before he got home from work he'd yell at me and say how he shouldn't need to clean. When I was about 5 months pregnant he said I cleaned too slow and grabbed the mop from me as he yelled at me. He said he expected a clean house when he got home. This was everyday. When I stopped working which he agreed since he wanted a stay at home mom, it continued to get worse. We argued all of the time because he'd yell at me about cleaning even though I literally cleaned the whole house everyday or else he'd scream at me. I also cleaned because I was a clean person but I never had anxiety until him because I was constantly being yelled at about it. Now I hate cleaning(but I still do it) because it just reminds me of him being a jerk. He's always been an ass hole to me, rude, nothing I do is ever good enough but I'm suppose to have empathy and be understanding and respectful whenever he's "doing his best".
I have always been supportive and acted like his damn therapist everytime he's upset about something or insecure or needs advice. I've been with him through so many ups and down; financially, him and his physical health. I always tried to be a good wife because I think you should be a great wife and husband to your partner. He's screamed at me because we ran out of aluminum foil which I was going to walk to the store to get because we only have one car. He said I wasn't doing my duty as a wife over it.
I started to have boundaries semi recently because after several years of him telling me to get over him not being affectionate and him just being so mean, ungrateful, constantly nitpicking and criticism, and only conditionally being nice which is when things are going his way. I've just had enough. I stopped doing things his way. He always yells at me or gets angry or rude about the dumbest shit or treats me like what I do isn't good enough
I vacuum the whole house everyday, clean every room everyday, cook, take care of our child, laundry, play and take our child out, and yet he'll insult me and say I'm not doing something. An example. I always did his laundry. There was a time I would ask him if he needed anything to be washed and he would tell me he had enough clothes. One night he was putting clothes in the washer and complaining how he was tired and didn't have clothes. I asked why he didn't tell me. He said he didn't know and that he doesn't pay attention to his clothes getting low because that's what wives are for while proceeding to tell me I make his clothes wrinkled.
I recently made him food for work. A croissant egg and bacon sandwich and a salad (which he wants to eat salads).He tells me that I'm being lazy with his food and it doesn't taste good. That the croissant only had one egg in it (it had two eggs because the croissant can't fit 3 or more eggs.) he said the salad was lazily made. I told him to tell me how any of that was lazy? He wouldn't answer and kept going on about how he works hard and how he's tired. After that I stopped making him food. He's told me I do things lazy so many times or that it looks like I don't do anything or that I don't do anything important because I don't have a job. I've had enough.
Those were just examples that I consider the most chill he's been. There's so many old and recent/today examples I can give. I could write a list the size of a book about the way he's treated me and things he's done to criticize me, act like what I do isn't good enough. I always gave 100% to him but that was never enough. He wanted more and when I did, it still wasn't enough. So I'm done giving so much of an effort for him to just bitch about it. He has a side of him, and I don't even know if its even real anymore or if he's that fucked up mentally, where he says he'll never divorce me, how he loves me, I'm his soulmate, how he feels horrible how he's treated me, how he can't ever forgive himself, etc. but then continues to act like an entitled human being. He'll be nice for a certain period of time. At most maybe a week or two and then he'll go back spiralling acting and saying mean shit to me.
The only thing I'm confident in is that he wouldn't divorce or cheat on me and that he's a very loving father. But living in constant chaos and just dealing with my feelings getting hurt. I can't do anymore. I don't give him affection, tell him I love him, I don't give my all anymore or that emotional support because I'm tired of being taken for granted. I don't love him, and I don't think he'll even change. Even if he does, I don't want to waste anymore of my years on waiting for someone to treat me the way I know I should be treated. I have so much love I want to give because that's how I am and I want to have more children, but I will not give it to a never satisfied ass hole.
We also have literally nothing in common besides family being important. He comes from a bad family background too. All he talks about is work and a sport he's obsessed with. He's a homebody and his only hobby is tv and sports where I like learning, reading, watching documentaries about science, history, I like painting, I like crafting, being outside and active. I like laughing and being funny but he literally does not make me laugh or smile. I haven't laughed in so long or had a real smile that I cry about it because before him I used to laugh all of the time and smile. My siblings came over to visit a couple months ago and they make me laugh so hard and smile that I felt so sad after because I don't get that normally. I was happy and hopeful before him.
He downplays what he does and brushes it under the rug so much I feel like I'm crazy and overreacting. But none of this can be normal behavior? He's gone to therapy but I don't think it's working.