Hi there. I'm trying to raise awareness of a campaign kicked off by Ross Scott, better known as the man behind Accursed Farms with production & acting credits under his belt from the likes of Civil Protection and Freeman's Mind.
https://www.stopkillinggames.com/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w70Xc9CStoE (Explanation from Ross Scott)
Without going into things, Ubisoft recently shut down the game servers for 'The Crew', a 2014 racing MMO with a scaled down map of the US. Alongside delisting the game from storefronts, they have revoked it from game accounts where users own the game too, so there is no way to access the game install media anymore.
There are of course other games that have historically been shut down because of the game servers being shuttered. Two that come to mind being Battlefield 2 & 2142, but there are plenty others out there,
Now, this game isn't really anything to sing home about but it's a matter of a principle; people paid for access / license to the game and can no logner access it, and given the company behind it, Ubisoft, is French, it is probably one of the biggest openings for legal retaliation. Ross does a better job of explaining it, but he wants to attack this on all possible fronts: owners of the game filing complaints direct to the French trading/consumer authority, and people writing / petitioning in their own countries. What Ross wants is to stop companies from being able to just decommission games that players have paid for, and ideally force companies to either keep the services running, make provisions so that the games can still be played offline, or provide access / tooling so that player communities can keep the game operational just as is the case with some games today (like the Battlefield 2 Hub / Revive projects that stood up community servers)
In simple terms, if you buy a product, a company shouldn't be able to destroy it / remove your ability to use it. Ross is hoping that if we can get enforcement in at least one or two countries, this will just lead to publishers applying a similar policy globally like we have in the past with companies like Valve, Sony etc allowing refunds.
From a UK standpoint: a petition was raised and is up to 25k signatures at this point, just needs another 75k for it to be 'considered' for debate in parliament:
https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/659071
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVGZe-xXS68 (Ross' response)
The response was a bit lackluster (although it's been disputed) and kinda suggests that whoever wrote it doesn't really understand the subject matter, but Ross has kinda speculated that it opens the door to future discussion / precedent being set. A point being that companies could potentially be forced to set expecctations of when the game will be shut down like an expiration date. It wouldn't be appropriate, for instance, for a company to randomly issue an update that forces a phone to stop working, would it?
I for one will be writing to my MP about it, if for nothing else then because I don't see what this would actually cost the government to consider given it's not denting their pockets directly.
I guess what I'm hoping to get out of this is spreading some awareness, potentially finding some friendly people who might be able to offer a shred of support to this campaign and just speculating whether there is a legal precedent for enforcement to stop this. EG, if I owned a copy of 'The Crew', could I take a complaint to the ombudsman / trading standards if Ubisoft refused to refund the cost / value of the game to me?

Trigger warning: mention of sexual assault
This is my first ever post to Reddit and I get most of my Reddit fix from YouTube so please be patient with me if I don’t understand all the lingo or rules, thank you.
Here’s some context: I am a transgender male. Boyfriend, who we will call H, is a cisgender male. We’ve been together just over 1 year and 2 months. We were roommates before we started dating, and friends with benefits long before I moved in, though we did fall off for about a year before I moved in too. H has only ever known me as trans, I have been out for about 3/4 years now.
Last night I went to bed mad and I didn’t want to. I was triggered shortly after dinner time when H lifted up my shirt on my backside in the shared living room we have with our roommate and his gf, almost exposing my chest which I do not bind while home. He then starts to try massaging my back until his hands starts inching closer to the front of me. I did not ask him to do this. I felt an immediate panic and told him to stop but it didn’t feel like enough to actually stop him so I said very yelling like: “the reason we never have sex is because you can’t help but cross my boundaries and I barely even want you to touch me anymore.”
I can understand how this felt really harsh on him as he quickly became quiet, wouldn’t look at me, and then left to his room. We do have separate rooms as we were roommates before, I now use my room as an office for my remote customer service job and his room as an actual bedroom.
I knew that if we talked immediately that I would probably lash out again, getting mad and yelling and he would shut down but maybe even get mad himself. But we know better that at least I need some time to cool off if we’re going to have a productive conversation as I do have big feelings very often that overwhelm me and I have anger issues as well. We’ve never had a big fight where both of us are trying to get a point across. I feel like I did before in my last big relationship where I’m the only one with all the big feelings and no one wants to listen to them. The point isn’t that I want a big fight, it’s that I know eventually I need to let it out but more calmly.
So when H came out of his room after I went to partake in the devils garden on the balcony, I was expecting to sit down and talk it out. Instead he asked me to make a copy of his license for work cause I have a scanneprinter, we hugged, apologized to each other but didn’t explain why we’re were apologizing, I went to make the copies and we went on like it was a normal night. I waited for a more appropriate moment to bring it up and every time I think it’s time to speak up, H has a favor to ask, he wants me to look at the TikTok’s and Reels he sent me, and then we’re going to bed. At that point, I am fully in my head about this interaction and relationship and I haven’t said a word to him since last night except he texted me this morning complaining about his new job.
I want to give a little context why I am scared to say anything further about being triggered and lashing out. About three months ago, H was very drunk (he is an alcoholic) and after I rambled on about something, H stopped me and said something to the effect of “No one’s listening to you.” He has apologized profusely about this but I have always had the impression that if you want someone to tell the truth, talk to a toddler or a drunk. I haven’t been able to get him saying that out of my head. I’ve been told some messed up stuff about me by others but this one…hurts. So when he doesn’t start a conversation, I don’t want to talk. He doesn’t like listening to me talk. He’s blamed his ADHD and said “I never know when you’re gonna stop and my brain won’t focus” but part of me knows that’s a crock of sh*t.
Maybe while writing this post I’m realizing that it’s not worth it, but I’d like to explain that his insistent “Stims” on me (smacking, tickling, scratching, finger tracing, scratching my head and pulling my hair, pimple popping on my back, etc) are what’s crossing my boundaries. I have had a rough time with touch ever since I was 14 and was sexually assaulted. The last time I was triggered like this, my bf of the time tried to hold me from behind but his hand placement freaked me out and I had an anxiety attack; sweating, crying and dry heaving type of anxiety attack. While H never initiated without asking for consent, I’ve always wondered why consent and “keep your hands to yourself” is only important for him when he’s using his genitals.
I have repeatedly tried to explain to H that I am uncomfortable with most touch, and his stims still happen. I’ve tried to be mindful that maybe he actually can’t control it, that his extreme OCD is making him (he was diagnosed as a kid, the beginning of the relationship I had to drive with him everywhere because he kept thinking he hit people while on the road, a great example of pure O) so I tried displacement where he stims on himself, asked him to stop repeatedly and making him work through what he can do instead of stimming on me, I have tried to gentle parent his issue and nothing works. I am beginning to resent him and I don’t want to resort to violence just because he’s backed me into a corner with this issue.
I know however that when we have heart to hearts about these types of issues, he listens and tries better (he stopped smacking my thigh and went to my butt, the frequency of stims have slowed down) but after a year, I feel worn down and don’t know how to get him to talk to me now as I know if I start the conversation he will either deflect or dismiss. What should I do?
TLDR: boyfriend has trouble keeping his hands to himself, triggered my SA issues, we never talked about it, I don’t think he cares to listen. What should I do?

Introduction

In our technologically advanced era, businesses strive to stay ahead of the curve by adopting cutting-edge solutions that enhance efficiency and engagement. AIDuals emerges as a game-changing tool that harnesses the power of artificial intelligence (AI) to create personalized digital assistants or "clones" tailored to your unique communication style. By combining AI with 3D animation, AIDuals delivers an interactive and engaging experience for your website visitors, customers, and prospects.

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• AIDuals Premium (Front-End Offer): $67 (one-time payment)
• OTO 1 (AIDuals Agency): $97 (one-time payment)
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Who Created AIDuals?

AIDuals is the brainchild of Abhi Dwivedi, a seasoned entrepreneur, software developer, and online marketer. With over 18 years of experience in the industry, Abhi has been instrumental in launching multiple successful software products and online ventures.
Abhi's team comprises skilled developers, marketers, and AI experts who have collaborated to create AIDuals, a cutting-edge solution that harnesses the power of AI to revolutionize the way businesses operate and engage with their audience.

When AIDuals is Launched

AIDuals is set to launch on May 28th, 2024, at 11:00 AM EST. This highly anticipated launch promises to introduce a game-changing product that will empower businesses to leverage AI technology effectively and efficiently.

Platform or Website for Accessing AIDuals

AIDuals can be accessed through its official website, www.aiduals.com. This website serves as the central hub for purchasing the product, accessing resources, and connecting with the AIDuals community.

Platform or Website for Launching AIDuals

AIDuals is being launched on the JVZoo platform, a well-established and reputable marketplace for digital products and services. JVZoo provides a secure and reliable platform for product launches, affiliate marketing, and customer support.

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The specific bonuses may vary from launch to launch, so it's essential to check the official AIDuals website or promotional materials for the latest information.

Should You Use AIDuals or Not?

The decision to use AIDuals ultimately depends on your specific business needs, goals, and resources. Here are a few considerations to help you determine if AIDuals is the right fit for you:
Reasons to Use AIDuals:

• You want to automate repetitive and time-consuming tasks, freeing up your time for more strategic endeavors
• You need to provide 24/7 customer support or assistance to your clients or customers
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Click Here to Get Access to AIDuals When It Launches On 28th May; 2024 @ 11AM EST

​

Conclusion

AIDuals is a groundbreaking product that harnesses the power of artificial intelligence to create personalized digital assistants or "clones" that can revolutionize the way businesses operate and engage with their audience. By combining AI technology with 3D animation, AIDuals delivers an interactive and engaging experience that enhances customer satisfaction and operational efficiency.
With its ability to automate a wide range of tasks, from customer support and content creation to lead generation and social media management, AIDuals offers a cost-effective solution for businesses looking to streamline their operations and stay ahead of the competition.
Whether you're an e-commerce business, a service provider, or a digital marketing agency, AIDuals can be a game-changer, allowing you to focus on strategic growth while your AI clones handle the day-to-day tasks seamlessly.
However, it's crucial to carefully consider the potential implications and ethical concerns associated with AI technology, ensuring that its implementation aligns with your business values and principles.
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Click Here to Get Access to AIDuals When It Launches On 28th May; 2024 @ 11AM EST

​

AIDuals FAQs

1. Is AIDuals easy to use and set up? Yes, AIDuals is designed to be user-friendly and accessible. The setup process is straightforward, and the platform provides step-by-step guidance to help you create and customize your AI clones.
2. How long does it take to train an AI clone? The time required to train an AI clone depends on the amount of data you provide and the complexity of your communication style. Generally, the more data you can provide, the more accurate and personalized the AI clone will be.
3. Can I use AIDuals for multiple languages? Absolutely! AIDuals supports multiple languages, allowing your AI clones to communicate with your customers or clients in their preferred language.
4. Is my data secure with AIDuals? Yes, AIDuals takes data security and privacy very seriously. They employ robust security measures and encryption protocols to protect your data and ensure compliance with relevant regulations.
5. Can I integrate my AI clone with third-party platforms? Yes, AIDuals offers integration capabilities with various third-party platforms, including websites, e-commerce stores, mobile apps, and messaging apps like WhatsApp and Telegram.
6. How often do I need to update or retrain my AI clone? It's recommended to periodically update and retrain your AI clone to ensure it stays up-to-date with any changes in your communication style or business operations. The frequency will depend on your specific needs and the rate of change in your industry or business.
7. Can I monetize my AI clone using AIDuals? Yes, AIDuals provides the option to monetize your AI clones by offering personalized AI services to clients under your own brand. You can charge clients for access to your AI clones and their capabilities.

Click Here to Get Access to AIDuals When It Launches On 28th May; 2024 @ 11AM EST

​

FTC Affiliate Commission Disclaimer

Please note that as an affiliate, I may earn a commission from qualifying purchases made through the links provided in this article. However, this does not influence my opinion or evaluation of the product. My goal is to provide an honest and unbiased review to assist readers in making informed decisions.

Click Here to Get Access to AIDuals When It Launches On 28th May; 2024 @ 11AM EST

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https://www.benzinga.com/24/05/38945144/gamestop-just-pulled-the-biggest-reverse-uno-card-on-market-manipulators-ever
Text:
GameStop Just Pulled The Biggest Reverse Uno Card On Market Manipulators Ever - GameStop (NYSE:GME) Kevin Malone 20-Year Pro Trader Reveals His "MoneyLine"
Ditch your indicators and use the "MoneyLine". A simple line tells you when to buy and sell without the guesswork. It’s a line on a chart that’s helped Nic Chahine win 83% of his options buys. Here's how he does it.
It is no secret that Gamestop Corp GME has been one of the most heavily manipulated stocks in history. Rehypothecated shorting of their company over 100% of the float, multiple brokers shutting off the buy button on the stock so that only sales could be placed, and also billion dollar company CEOs lying under oath to congress.
It is our personal opinion that under the guidance of Ryan Cohen, the company has figured out a way to fight the constant manipulation of their company.
From the Q4 Form 10-K “As of February 3, 2024, we have $101.3 million remaining under the repurchase authorization.” This means that at a share price of $15.00, GameStop could buy back 6.75 million shares of their stock and retire those shares to decrease the float. This is the first avenue that GameStop has.
Also in the Q4 Form 10-K “On December 5, 2023, the Board of Directors approved a new investment policy. The Board has delegated authority to manage the Company’s portfolio of securities investments to an Investment Committee consisting of the Company’s Chairman of the Board of Directors and Chief Executive Officer, Ryan Cohen, and two independent members of the Board of Directors.
The Investment Committee will direct the investment activity of the Company in public and private markets. Mr. Cohen or other members of the Investment Committee, each in their personal capacity or through affiliated investment vehicles, may at times invest in the same securities in which the Company invests. The Board anticipates that such investments will align the interests of the Company with the interests of related parties because it places the personal resources of such directors at risk in substantially the same manner as resources of the Company in connection with investment decisions made by the Investment Committee on behalf of the Company.”
To summarize the above paraphrase from the Q4 Form 10-K, Gamestop has the ability to invest their BILLION dollars in cash into public and marketable securities in which Cohen or other members ALSO invest in. Cohen’s largest position personally is Gamestop shares and this filing allows Gamestop to buy its OWN shares without having to retire those shares like a stock buy-back. This is a genius way for a company to buy its own stock during heavily shorted downward prices or during the stock’s price cycles who have seen fast 100% gains and 50% drops. This also secures the members of the investor committee to also purchase more shares of GameStop.. This is avenue 2.
Lastly, from the Form 424B5 filed on May 17, 2024, “We have entered into an Open Market Sale AgreementSM, or Sales Agreement, with Jefferies LLC, or Jefferies, on May 17, 2024, relating to shares of our Class A common stock, par value $0.001 per share, or common stock. In accordance with the terms of the Sales Agreement, we may offer and sell shares of our common stock from time to time through Jefferies, acting as our sales agent and referred to as the “Sales Agent.” Under this prospectus supplement and the accompanying prospectus, and in accordance with the terms of the Sales Agreement, we may offer and sell up to 45,000,000 shares of our common stock from and after the date hereof.”
Avenue 3: GameStop set into place the ability to sell shares of their stock on their massive upward price swings to secure substantially more cash on their balance sheet and lead the company to an even more profitable company. This is where the Reverse Uno card comes in. GameStop can now hypothetically sell 45 million shares when their stock price jumps to $50 again which would secure $2.25 billion in cash that can THEN be used to either buy back $100 million in their shares or be used to purchase then $3.25 billion dollars of marketable securities. That much cash would be worth more than the entire market cap of the company at the end of April during their lows.
GameStop and its investing committee now has the ability to buy back $100 million of shares, purchase over $1 billion in shares to hold on their balance sheet and sell for a higher price on massive price swings, and also sell 45 million shares during extremely large price increases as well. They can now effectively battle the market makers in every direction of their price swings. Buckle Up.
Malone Wealth Ventures LLC is a Registered Investment Adviser. Advisory services are only offered to clients or prospective clients where Malone Wealth Ventures LLC and its representatives are properly licensed or exempt from licensure. This website is solely for informational purposes. Past performance is no guarantee of future returns. Investing involves risk and possible loss of principal capital. No advice may be rendered by Malone Wealth Ventures LLC unless a client service agreement is in place.
This article is from an unpaid external contributor. It does not represent Benzinga's reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

Hi all - searched around and didn't find a post that addressed this specifically, but let me know if this has already been answered.
I'll be separating from active duty in August 2025 (with terminal leave starting May 2025). At that time, my total active duty service will be 4 years and 90 days.
My question: can I get approved for Post 9/11 GI bill benefits with an anticipated separation date of August 2025 now, while still on active duty? At my current time in service (~3 years), I'm ineligible for benefits since my first 4 years are payback for my ROTC scholarship. However, I'm staying in an additional 90 days for that 50% benefit. I called the VA education benefits hotline, and the rep advised that I could submit my application for benefits now while including supporting details. I did that, and was predictably denied. I'm looking to start using my 50% GI Bill benefit as soon as I get out in August 2025, so it would be nice to have it set up beforehand. Is there anything I can do now to get approved, or do I just need to wait until August 2025 and re-apply?
To clarify, I do not want to use my Post 9/11 GI Bill while on active duty. I'm looking to apply for and be approved for it now, while I'm on active duty, but I will be using the benefit as soon as I'm out.
Thanks!

I had my I-130 in California Service Center for already 17 months (receipt date: 12/22/2022) and I just found out (5/21/24) that they moved it to my field office. Has anyone been through the same? I'm really sad because it says that I can ask that my case is outside normal processing times on April 2029.

Hello, fellow veterans.
My story goes back to December 2021 when I started submitting claims for all the issues I had been experiencing. I was initially awarded 10% for my wrists, but that was the least of my issues. My PTSD, which at the time I was claiming as Anxiety, Depression, and Insomnia, was denied due to having no service connection.
I kept submitting supplemental claims and appeals because I knew that was wrong. I almost had given up, but in April 2024, I was finally rated 100% P&T for PTSD. My effective date was January 2024, so I immediately filed an HLR to review my effective date.
I used the links I found on this website to schedule my meeting. I used the conference ID that was all 9's (ex. 99999999). I logged in in the middle of the night and found many open appointments. I scheduled it for the next morning. They sent me a confirmation text saying I was scheduled. The next morning I received another text saying my "conference ID is invalid." They still sent me another message saying I was still scheduled for a call a few hours from then.
The reviewer called me right on time. She was very nice and told me she was having trouble finding me. After verifying my identity, she had me give her a little background and I told her I submitted a Form 21-4138 explaining the timeline of events and she read it with me. She agreed with everything and said she saw no issues with going all the way back to December 2021. She was going to do a little more research because I might not have been at 100% the whole time, but that it would be better than nothing. She also said she'd have a decision for me by COB today, or tomorrow at the latest.
I was very pleased with my interaction and how quickly it was processed. Thank you for all the knowledge in this sub and all of you. Don't lose hope. Keep trying. It is possible. God bless you all.

Hello, I canceled my service on April 19th and I also moved out on this date. After returning all my equipment I was told I was all set and was given a credit, only to be charged my full bill amount on May 7th. I contacted xfinity THREE times on this matter and was even given a case number on my most recent attempt but it was just closed with no communication or refund.
My communication was through the xfinity chat, where the first two times I was told I'd be recieveing the refund after a few business days, which never happened. On the third attempt, I was given the same spiel, 4-5 business days, and then they told me they can have someone call me about this matter from account retention as they'd be able to issue the refund immediately? This is where the lady on the phone made a case number for me, on Sunday. The case number was just closed today, Tuesday with the charge still in my account, with no refund, or communication.
Please dear lord just give me my money back. I had a huge vet bill at the start of the month only to be knocked with an additional charge, and then I was assured I would have it back shortly. As an ex technician I would assure customers this wouldn't happen on a daily basis... Severely regretting that now.

39 YO Female with severe neck, upper back, and left arm pain. Please help me read this MRI report. I am in US.
DATE OF SERVICE: DOI: 05/16/2024 MRI OF THE CERVICAL SPINE
TECHNIQUE: Sagittal T1, fast spin-echo T2 and STIR imaging was performed. T2 and T2 gradient echo axial imaging was performed. CLINICAL: Neck pain with left radicular symptoms
FINDINGS: Visualized structures in the posterior fossa are unremarkable. There is no Amold-Chiari malformation. The cervical cord demonstrates normal signal. There is degenerative desiccation of the C4-5, C5-6 and C6-7 disks. Remaining cervical discs are partially desiccated. No marrow infiltrative process is seen. There is loss of the cervical lordosis.
There is mucoperiosteal thickening seen in the sphenoid sinus and the right maxillary sinus. Visualized paravertebral soft tissues are otherwise unremarkable.
The C2-3 and C3-4 disc spaces are unremarkable.
At C4-5 there is a small central disc herniation leading to Annular impression upon the central ventral sac. There is mild superior migration of disc herniation to the lower C4 level. No canal or foraminal stenosis.
At C5-6 there is a small central disc herniation leading to mild angular impression upon the central ventral sac. No canal or foraminal stenosis.
At C6-7 there is disc bulge leading to mild diffuse impression upon the ventral sac, no canal or foraminal stenosis.
The C7-T1 disc space is unremarkable.
IMPRESSION:

1. There is a small central disc herniation C4-5 with mild superior migration of disc herniation to the lower C4 level. Small central disc herniation C5-6. There is angular impression upon the central ventral sac at both levels, no canal or foraminal stenosis at either level.
2. There is disc bulge at C6-7 leading to mild diffuse impression upon the ventral sac, no canal or foraminal stenosis.
3. Loss of cervical lordosis, this may be due to muscle spasm or patient position.
4. Sinus changes described above may reflect acute or chronic sinusitis. Thank you for your kind referral of this patient. We appreciate the opportunity to participate in this patient's care.

I am looking for advice on this issue.
In 2021 our company bought 100 perpetual licenses that allowed us to license both servers and workstations. We were notified for this service contract renewal, we'll need to split our license into a group for workstation and a group for Servers, retroactively changing our perpetual licenses to fit their new license model. And to add more frustration, if in the future we need to add more license of either type, we'll have to pay a fee and possible have to buy licenses even if one category has extras.
I really like how the sales rep acted like he was doing us a favor by not charging us this time to change our licenses we already own.
From reading the EULA https://www.manageengine.com/eula.html
the perpetual license grants a non-exclusive, non-transferable, perpetual, worldwide license to use the Licensed Software, including user documentation, updates, upgrades, and plug-ins provided during the license period. The term "perpetual" indicates that the license does not expire, and we retain the right to use the version of the software we purchased indefinitely.
The EULA also states:
Zoho's Reserved Rights: Zoho retains the right to discontinue or not release any Licensed Software and to alter prices, features, specifications, capabilities, functions, licensing terms, release dates, general availability, or characteristics of the Licensed Software.
However, these changes do not retroactively affect the perpetual license already granted.
Based on these terms, it appears that retroactively altering the scope of our existing perpetual license from covering 100 devices (including both servers and computers) to computers and servers separately would not be consistent with the terms set in the EULA. Our perpetual license should remain as initially granted, without modification, unless both parties agree to a change.
Am I missing something? How would you handle this?

I (24f) am tired. I’ve never actively pursued dating due to other priorities and decided to last year. I’ve been online dating for a year now, and I’ve always approached dating with the intentions of building a deep connection with someone. I believe that in order to do that, you have to be comfortable with a level of vulnerability, openness and honesty. I don’t play games, as soon as I realise I’m incompatible with someone - I don’t ghost them, I text them to end it. If I like them, I tell them. I don’t follow the “three day rule” for texting, if you text me - I text back when I’m free - and that’s spans from a minute to 4hours, but usually within a day. I plan cute dates, I follow through. I think i’m somewhat attractive, I get hit on at work often (service industry), people are shocked when I’ve told them I’ve never had a boyfriend, when it’s for “short-term fun” I don’t really struggle to find someone for the night. But I don’t want that, I want to build something with someone. Personality-wise, I don’t think I lack in that department either - I have maintained a lot of deep friendships local and overseas (I moved around a lot). I don’t think it’s my intelligence either, and I certainly don’t think I’m boring. Perhaps it’s my career, I just graduated from biology and I’m not-well established in it right now, but aren’t you supposed to grow with someone?
I don’t know what it is, is it my approach ? i approach dating like I do with making friends, I like to think I’m warm and funny and “woke”. If I feel like having sex with them, I do. But I make that decision by date two or three - is that too soon? Do I make it too easy? Should I make them chase? I don’t get it, that sounds manipulative and so tiring. I keep hearing about these rules and games from both my female and male friends and everyone else in between, and I just don’t get it. Why can’t you act on what you truly feel? Like where’s the genuineness anymore? I don’t think I fit well into this era of online dating anymore. Maybe I should have started earlier in my age when people were less jaded. I think I give up now. I don’t think i have any strength left to continue being authentic and genuine when dating. I’m feeling pretty burned out. Perhaps I should just embrace being single forever and adopt a cat or two haha. ha.

I am looking for individual LMTs, CMTs, or businesses in Virginia beach or the surrounding hampton roads area that offer a couples massage class.
I am looking for a "date night" style class where my wife and I learn the basics of massaging each other for a few hours. I've seen a lot of these services at different massage businesses on the internet but they all seem a couple hours away and was wondering if anyone offers this service locally whether they advertise it or not.
Thank you!

Why? Cause "Ha! You still live with yo mama, you ain' got no car, you ain' got no house" so on and so forth which are all valid reasons IF YOU'RE NOT A FEMINIST.
You know who would date/marry someone who works at McDonald's and doesn't have a cahouse? Niggaz would. Niggas don't care, they wouldn't be like "THIS GIRL STILL LIVES WITH HER MAMA, THIS GIRL GOT NO CAR, SHE ONLY MAKES BLAH BLAH A MONTH" MEN DON'T CARE. MILLIONAIRE MEN WOULD PUT A RING ON A WAITRESS HE WOULDN'T CARE OR EVEN THINK ABOUT HER JOB OR EARNINGS.
But the fake Feminists do. Why is that?
Because deep down in her nature she knows the man is supposed to be the breadwinner and the leader of the household so she can't bring herself to be cuffed by a low income no promising future man who can't lead. SHE IS JUST NOT ATTRACTED TO A MAN WHO CAN'T PULL HIS WEIGHT.
WHAT HAPPENED TO GENDER ROLES BEING FAKE? WHAT HAPPENED TO "IT'S TOTALLY NORMAL FOR MEN TO STAY AT HOME AND WOMEN TO MAKE A LIVING"
SHOW ME ONE GOD DAMN FEMINIST WHO EARNS HIGH, WHO MARRIED A GUY WHO WORKS AT WALMART. I CAN SHOW YOU PLENTY OF RICH MEN WHO MARRY LOW INCOME WOMEN.
But nah, as with everything left wing and woke, Feminism too is self contradicting.
AS A MATTER OF FACT FEMINISM ISN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE REAL ACCORDING TO THE LEFT BECAUSE ANYONE WHO SAYS THEY'RE A WOMAN IS A WOMAN SO THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS INCOME INEQUALITY ANYWAY SO LONG AS HIGH EARNING MEN IDENTIFY AS WOMEN HAHAHAH PROBLEM SOLVED! Anyway that's another topic.

I was raised loosely methodist, baptized 10 years ago with them. My wife is Russian orthodox by birth, and after the first couple years of us dating I became very interested in orthodox christianity. Back then I even would fast during Great Lent which encouraged her to begin participating in it again. Back then my exposure to the faith was limited because where we lived there were no orthodox parishes or resources. However I continued my interest in orthodoxy christianity as I view it to be the true faith.
Fast forward a couple years when we moved to a new area with orthodox churches we could attend. I decide I want to make my commitment more official and find a ROCOR parish to meet a priest. I met with a priest in person, described my intent and explicitly asked him what would be required of me to become orthodox and join their church. He only told me to attend services and continue learning about the church. He then gave me a tour of the parish, explained different parts of it and some of the symbolism, then answered some more questions I had. He was very nice and welcoming to me. Before I left that meeting, he gave me a prayer book, and gave me information about an evening class held in the parish library. The class was not required but encouraged. This was not a catechumen class - in the times I was able to attend it was more about the history of the Orthodox Church. They welcomed me in joining their study and lectures, but never any talk about converting, etc. so I didn’t think anything else of it. At this point based on my reception from this class and the priest before, I don’t see how a reasonable new person would expect there to be any further asks or obstacles than to simply do what I was told to do - pray, study, attend services, etc.
I would attend services with my then-fiancé, like vespers, matins, liturgy, even Pascha. Everything I experienced just felt right and I knew this was the right path for me. However during the first couple years of attending services I couldn’t do so consistently, as I worked full time in law enforcement with a panama schedule, and was a military reservist. But I did my best to attend and be persistent.
Fast forward another year and my wife and I decide to get married in Russia. In an orthodox church. Both of us are not knowledgeable of requirements for this, no less I’m trying to do it in a country where I don’t speak fluently. My wife’s family called a priest in one of their city’s parishes. From what I recall the person they spoke to only asked if I was baptized and if we had a marriage license. So then we get married in the temple and it was a beautiful moment for us.
Fast forward another year or so. I’m under the impression that I am officially orthodox through the marriage. We continue to attend services, I even begin to partake in sacraments out of my ignorance. We apply to become parishioners at the church I originally inquired with back in the US, and we are accepted.
We now attend an affiliated sister parish a little closer to our home, and I developed a strong connection to this smaller parish. My faith has grown tremendously. I had been confessing and through the Lord’s help, I am ridding myself of sins which plagued me for years.
But now after really thinking about my path and comparing to other peoples' experiences, I feel like I slipped into the church under false pretenses, and out of my own ignorance. I feel so foolish and like a fraud to have been claiming orthodoxy. I am so ashamed that I cannot bring myself to tell the priest about this, or even attend services anymore. I am afraid of whether they say my ignorance would invalidate my marriage in the eyes of God, or just the brutal shame of realizing I participated in the sacraments illegitimately.
All of my interest and actions were earnest and in good faith. I came to that first visit seeking what I needed to do in order to convert. I did exactly what the first priest told me to do - to learn more and attend services. But it never occurred to me to follow up and “check in” again because who am I to check behind him? He didn’t say anything to me about coming back to him for a formal conversion. He has since moved on from that parish so I haven’t had his contact for years.
This sudden realization has really crushed me. I have the Lord in my heart and I will not turn away from Him. Becoming more like orthodox has played such an important part in shaping me as a husband and father, to be more giving, more ascetic, etc. I have grown so much from my path with this faith, and I don’t believe the Lord would have put me down this path if it wasn’t sanctioned by Him. I just feel like I have been living a lie despite my earnest efforts, and I am feeling paralyzed in how to handle this. Thank you if you took a moment to read this.

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Hello, I have been working at USPS in customer service since February 13th, made career with an effective date of March 23rd so my 90-day probation period reset from that date and I still have another month within it. Never missed a day for any reason, never been late.
I’ve accrued 16 hours of Annual Leave, and was wondering if I’d be able to apply for a couple days off for leave in mid-July (which would be after my 90 days) for a trip. I understand you typically want to apply for time off as soon ahead as possible, but not sure if I’m even able to apply for time off when I’m within my 90 days (or if that would just be taboo lol). Obviously I’m also at the bottom of the seniority ranks so if someone were to ask for that time over me they’d get it but I’m not even sure if I’m eligible to apply, or really what Annual Leave is intended to be used for. Is it different than something like vacation time at another job?
Apologies for the probably stupid question