Kbr jobs electrical

Hello to everyone. I am requesting help with food and a busspass to do some very important errands. I am a single mom to 13yo were In desperate need of a little food to carry us through until the end of the month. I am currently looking for employment and trying to still maintain life without jumping off a cliff. A little humor id like to think I'm stronger but life has been a struggle. I lost my job after my car broke down. It's been a ripple affect. I don't have family or support for just the basic things in life. It's all on me, I'm not complaining but it can sometimes wear on your mental. I've applied for benefits for the state for my son but it's a waiting game. I need to go out tomorrow to our local agency to get help with my utilities a buss pass for the day is 10bucks. I've created a Amazon wishlist list and if anyone of you beautiful souls can help with either it'll be greatly appreciated. Thank you for listening. I do have cash app/PayPal. I need the busspass more than anything because I need to get help with the electric. Thank you in advance blessings to you all
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/7IZZ3C2JCQBB?ref_=wl_share

Hoping I can get some good advice here. LONG POST.
On my floor of my condo there is a renter who constantly has drug addicts come to their unit. They cause issues all the time. The usual suspects have been banned from the building. My building has one security guard for two buildings.
One weekend I was watching TV and I heard my door open. This drug addict was high off his mind and came into my condo. I pushed him out and slammed the door. The guy ran away into the stairwell. I locked the door and went to security to tell them what had happened.
This is a new guard who I think is temp and looks like he's 18 years old. I told him what happened and he goes "Uh yeah... you should probably call the cops...." I'm like what? you're security this is your job. Are you kidding me? The guy reluctantly calls the cops and I tell him where he ran to (West stairwell) and goes to check. I'm also calling the cops at this point while he looks.
He comes back and says I didn't see anything. I ask him if he can come up with me incase he comes back. At least its 2V1 if he's back. When we go to my floor I point to the stairwell and say yeah he ran down there. Didn't see anything and the guard says yeah I didn't check there.... I ask him well what did you check? "I don't know I checked around"... This guy is useless.
Cops then show up and are at my floor with the guard. My wife tells me while I was getting the security guard that she saw the guy throw some black duffle bag into the electrical closet that's right next to my door. I tell the cops (they got here in 10 minutes, there were like 8 of them) this and they open the electrical door (Which should be locked) and the guy is there laying down. His bag has clothes and stuff in it.
The Cops grab him and arrest him and start talking to him. Long story short. He thought he was coming into that other unit that has all these drug addicts in and made a mistake. They can't arrest him because the cops said he had no intent and it was a mistake. He's banned from the building as of tonight (They told him) the cops say and he shouldn't come back.
Next day I tell the day security guard what happened... (this guard is really good and been here for a few years) He tells me that the same guy came back that day in the morning while he was on his break and the cleaners found him on another floor from mine and he ran away into the stairwell. While I'm chatting the SAME GUY is in the buzzing lobby trying to get in. I'm like THATS THE GUY! so the guard tells him to leave and chases him off. I call the cops and so does the guard.
Ok... So quick things.

• Yes my door was unlocked. I thought it was locked... My mistake. There are no security cameras on the floors.
  
• The good guard tells me this guy has threatened people and is a huge problem and that he's actually already been banned from here 3 months ago.
  
• How did this guy get in? He wasn't buzzed in and the guard in the evening shouldn't of let him in. He is banned .
  
• Bad security guard asking me to call cops and not having a clue on what to do.
  
• Afraid this guy can come back again and knows I called the cops on him and knows where I live. He got into the building the next day past security.
  
• Cops came back 3am the next day. They were busy. Nothing got resolved.
  

Can I take legal action on my condo corp / management for putting me at risk? Thankfully nothing happened but homeless mental health drug addicts who knows what might of happened. Now I'm paranoid this guy can come back.

Last week I go in to get an ID that coincidentally expired two days after my job interview. I was hoping to start but my luck has been down the drain this year. To make it more difficult I moved in 13 days before that incident with the DMV meaning I have no pieces of mail, its too early get any bills of any kind. I rushed to get as much spam mail + other pieces but only made out with two. I go in with two pieces of proof of residence. She says she can’t accept online documents (Its my electric bill) but the apartment lease was fine. I wasted 20 minutes and went home angry. I come back calmed down today and present a letter from the landlord + the lease and she says she can’t accept the lease because I didn’t have my name on the water bill section. She then asks if I have a bill of any kind and I say no I haven’t been there long. The next part infuriated me to the point where social decency was no longer a concept to me, a quiet and understand guy who respects everybody and is somewhat cautious not to be confused with shyness. This troglodyte asks me if I have my electric bill on my phone. I say “Why? you rejected the me the last time.” And her excuse is thousands of people go through everyday. I tell her I came on the last day the DMV was open 20 minutes to closing and came early in the morning the moment the doors opened. So that was a complete lie. She starts nit picking at the authenticity of my citizenship (I’m literally Native American) and her co worker swoops in and finishes it while she tells her incompetent hobgoblin conworker to go in the break room because shes all flustered. Got my ID thankfully but seriously? Why do I go through these loop holes just for you to lie to me about the electric bill? I was late to my orientation by 10 minutes but at least next Tuesday I can come back and finish it and start working. Anybody else hate it or am I just a big hater?

LF +1 for a TRIO , vanilla, 21yo+, 2k+ played
Were EU players with 2k+ hours and 25+ years old.
We enjoy a chill gameplay while staying on track and being organized. No flame for losing gear, that what it is for anyway.
We have very organized and coordinated playstyle. Not a fan of chasing every shot and boom I hear. Although were definitely down to counter it when prepared. I handle building, electricity, industrials, autocrafters, autosorters and farming/genetics if possible.
Were adults and have jobs, but when we play wipe we go for it. We would expect same from you. We play Thursday till Sunday, weekly wipes.
Let me know about your Rust bio, playstyle and other stuff, you consider important. Were looking for a long term trio partner.
discord - Tabithy

I’ve come to realize that I want to have a remote job. I want to travel while not working and work from wherever I am at the time. My s/o is able to take contract work 8 weeks at a time and we will probably work around that.
Currently, I’m an assistant Project manage assistant estimator for an electrical contractor. I’ve only been here for a year. Prior to this I was working in building materials for 6. For that company I started as a driver but very quickly became in house safety person - logistics coordinatoscheduler and then operations manager before getting my current role. I’m truly grateful for the opportunity that I have, but my heart is adventurous and I’ve been dreaming of this life for way too long.
I have a CDL (I do NOT want to be a driver) OSHA 30 Experience with Estimating software My old company used Agility so I’ve got some experience there I’ve taken web development courses mainly just to learn different things. HTML, CSS, JavaScript and some Python I’ve also played around with some SQL mainly because I use excel a lot
I’m pretty open to ideas as long as I can get remote. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated

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 everybody,
I`m a Electrical Engineer from an eastern european country with 6 years experience in electric grids (low and medium voltage), industrial electrical equipment and photovoltaic project. I recently visited Japan, for a second time and decided to move there(it has been my dream for quite some time). I plan to move in 1-2 years due to the fact that I firstly want to study more Japanese language and industrial standards so I have some questions and i`m seeking some advices:

1. As an Electrical Engineer is N3 enough to help me get a job or should I aim for N2?(I plan to take the N3 exam this year)
2. How are the Japanese interview structured ? Multiple rounds/single interview/online tests?

3 .If i can`t get a job as an Electrical Engineer, how is the IT market right now for those without experience (as a side note I have a second degree in Computer Science)? I specialized myself in C for embedded software engineering.

1. What job boards are better to apply internationally (besides Linkedin)?
   
2. Should I translate my diplomas into Japanese or I can use the official English translation done by my university?
   
3. Will the company be willing to provide me with housing ?
   

P.S: I will kindly ask to refrain from answers like Japan pays its engineer poor, or the working conditions/hours are bad, because I`m well aware about that and I do not mind.
Thanks in advance.

I am 40 years old in decent shape. After +20 years programming, I never found anything particularly appealing about it as a job. I was in Ubisoft, Microsoft, HP, Mastercard, Cisco... Wrote a lot of stuff that many people use every day. Some of it was a decent challenge and that was fun but there was always the problem of either "I don't care about this" or "I care about this and I hate how my corporation is developing it".
Just recently, I was asked to solve a one-time problem with something rather modern. I was struggling for a bit - especially I think the modern stuff isn't better than the stuff we already had - and then hired a freelancer to teach me about it. At $25 an hour, he was swimming through this new tech. I make 4 times that and was nearly hopeless. I don't think the world needs me to engineer software any more.
I am brushing up on my physics and learning particularly about electricity. I have a degree in electronics engineering and hoping I can get into the building trades as an electrician.
Also, I love working with wood. My father restores violins for a living and although I could never have his fine motor skills and artistry, I am pretty comfortable with making things using a mitre saw, biscuit cutter, etc.
Welding is also something I've done before, as a summer job at my uncle's farm. I was very proud of my neat flow :)
Oh, and I am not too shy when it comes to replacing a toilet seat or unclogging a sewage system.
I am fully prepared to come working for someone as apprentice. I know that every job worth something is NOT EASY to just come out of nowhere and get started.
What do you think? Good time to pick up a trade? Any specific recommendations on what is needed in the south-east area?

Hi Everyone
I finished an IT degree in 2023 and I just started my first IT job 3 months ago. It doesn't pay well, and I have debt from some unemployed spurts over the last 12 months. But overall I'm in a good career place.
I stayed with my family for most of school, but moved out in 2022 and have been renting a room from a guy I met on Reddit for 2 years. Its cheep, college student type housing, not very fancy. But the guy is trustworthy, stable, reasonable and easy to get along with. I rent a bedroom and the homeowner has the top floor of the house.
Anyway my roommate just got an amazing job where is managing services on a state level, meaning he will have to move to the State Capitol in July. I have 2 options.

1. Take over house, rent a year long lease and try to get 1 or 2 college student roommates. The overall cost is about $1800/month.
2. Move into my own apartment, rent is around $700 (I work in a very poor neighborhood) Cover bills myself, and deal with a property management company.

There are advantages and disadvantages to both.
Option 1 Pros: I trust the guy, I have known him for 2 years and I know his family. The house I'm living in will eventually appreciate a lot due to its proximity to a college stadium, and the owner is conflict adverse. So he is incentivized to just keep a stable tenant in as long as possible, meaning rent hikes or sellouts are low probability. This is likely the cheaper option, as I should be able to get each of the college students to pay $650.
Option 2 Cons: I have to deal with 1-2 college students. We live next to a prestigious university, and If I'm lucky I can get some stable, boring international grad students who just want to study all day. But everyone knows bringing in college kids is rolling the dice.
Option 2 Pros: Independence and simplicity, no roommates, shorter commute to my job (on the side of town opposite the university.)
Option 2 Cons: I have to deal with a for-profit corporation being my landlord. I'm scared of annual rent increases. The People charge a $30 application fee and a $50 lease fee. I haven't played the rental game in a while, but right off the bat that makes me nervous. I also don't really know how much electricity/wateInternet will cost. Where as I know the exact amount at the other house. Also, The neighborhood is a bit wild.

Starting a Job after college with a lot of travel. I recently graduated college as a Civil Engineer. I've accepted a job offer as a Geotechnical Engineer. The job requires me too drive to different construction sites within the Philadelphia/NJ area from King Of Prussia doing inspections and testing.
I would also need a car capable enough to drive around on this construction sites. I will also be transporting testing equipment and samples and need good cargo space.
I'm looking for a car with good mileage because of the extra travel, we recently got a electric car charger installed at the house and was thinking about getting a PHEV.
The job pays higher range in the 60 thousands and I have about 28k in debt, l'm striving to pay that off in a year and half. I'm living at home with the parents until I do and don't have any other payments.
What car would be feasible for me capabilities and budget wise.
Additional information, I will be reimbursed 0.68 a mile and might drive around 500 miles a week I'm not totally sure. I'm trading in my 2016 Nissan Rogue.

For context, I'm a 16-year-old living in "socialist" Vietnam. For the uninitiated, you must think that we're a bunch of commies who're still singing praise about Mr. Ho Chi Minh whilst fighting off Agent Orange in guerilla warfare. If that's the case, then, oh boy, you couldn't be any further from the truth.
Last summer break, my dad offered me a position at a traditional Vietnamese food restaurant in the local AEON Mall branch for a month. He said that it would give me good work experience and color my CV, which I agreed with at the time. And so, like the 'pride of the family' that I was (yes, adults call all of their eldest/most academically adept children this in Vietnam), I decided to take him up on his offer. And, despite everything I've read about 9-5s on Reddit, nothing could've prepared me for actually experiencing it myself.
Firstly, the hours are actually 8:30-17:00, so that's 30 extra minutes compared to the average. Secondly, you're supposed to work 7 days a week. Yep, you heard that right. SEVEN. Their rationale was that since we worked in the service sector, we needed to work even on break days to maximize our output as that's when traffic is at its peak. And the best part? We weren't supposed to get ANY days off even on public holidays, because, guess what, that's when everybody goes out to eat. And, for as much as I hated it, I couldn't deny what they were saying. After all, I myself have been guilty of going to restaurants before on holidays with my family, so I am painfully aware of the fact that somebody still had to work their asses off to give us a good time. In this case, I got to place myself into one of these people's shoes for once.
And that's just the time factor. The people there were... well, let's just say that I had a better time just not interacting with any of them in the first place. Like, I get it, you're very worn down just like I am and I'm a rookie making mistakes and messing stuff up, but you don't have to be such a cunt about it. Even I manage to keep a poker face about me almost every day, and yet I'M supposed to be part of the demographic that was known for their erratic mood swings! I swear, only, like, 3 of the employees there had a shred of sympathy in their entire bodies, which didn't make it any easier for me to contort my face into a grin every time I served a customer. Honestly, it's one of the rare cases where the manager had a more likable and understanding personality than his subordinates, which, uh, isn't saying a whole lot, to be frank.
Not to mention the work itself. Somehow, serving there managed to require a lot of finesse to not topple over the tray stacked to the brim with wine glasses and constant physical labor while being mind-numbingly boring. The health and safety regulations there were practically non-existent, and it really showed when I got a nasty cut on my fingertip while skinning some of the hardest-to-peel fruits I'd ever encountered in my entire life. Normally, I'd expect to get at least a break to recover, but NOOO... they just told me to slap on a bandage and get on with it DESPITE the injury I had. Needless to say, I quickly excused myself and found better luck sweeping the floor instead, but that one experience really set in stone for me just how little people cared about each other when push came to shove.
Now, you must be thinking, "Well, at least you're getting paid for it." Yeah, at 24000 VND per hour, no less. For context, that is equivalent to just under a dollar an hour, which goes to show just how fantastic the economic circumstances are in Vietnam. The last saving grace is gone. Whoops.
And the worst part about all of this is... I am still extremely PRIVILEGED compared to the average person in Vietnam. My parents are both start-up owners, so I get to live quite comfortably without having to worry about food or electricity bills, unlike many others less fortunate than I. But knowing that I'm better off compared to so many people doesn't inspire gratitude or confidence in me. It only makes me feel ashamed to be living in such a world, where the only true winner is inevitable decay and the rest of us are playing the part of the fool. Even the ones at the top.
What I went through was like a bucket of ice water in my face, making me realize just how inconsequential my childhood joys truly are. "Remember the good times", huh? Kiss my ass. Good luck following your own advice while dealing with a seemingly endless horde of customers while trying to steady your shaking arms carrying a tray to the other fucking side of the restaurant. So many people keep telling me that I'm too cynical and negative, but you know what? I bet a majority of them have never actually worked a full-time job before. Seeing them get proven wrong only further reinforces my beliefs that adulthood is not an age of freedom for most like it is advertised in Vietnam, but rather one of monotony and frustration, watching as any semblance of a spark or flair in you gets slowly and methodically washed away until everything around you becomes white noise. And that's me just after ONE MONTH of that shit. I can't even imagine how much pain I'd be in if I had to do that for the rest of my life.
If this is the kind of stuff I had to go through just to get by, then I really don't see the appeal in the state of living over the state of being dead. Like, if I'm such a burden to society and this world to the point where I have to inflict torture upon myself daily just to repay my debts and earn the right to exist, then what reason do I have for sticking around in a world that clearly doesn't want me? What's so good about living when "treading water" is the best the average person like me can hope for? The fact that people have to convince themselves that life is worth living with motivational quotes and thought-ending cliches really rubs me the wrong way, and now I'm not even sure whether they're trying to help others or trying to convince themselves. Sorry if I'm being too "edgy" or whatever for you, by the way. You can always just NOT read this if it bothers you that much.
Anyway, that's enough rambling from me for now. This summer holiday, my dad wants me to do it all over again. And you know what? I will. Because it's the best shot I have at increasing my chances of making it in this twisted place we call reality. Maybe, if I'm lucky enough, I'll find a different place to work in with less bullshit hours and more acceptable working conditions. I'll take anything at this point. Oh, and before I go... sorry for wasting your time, but you brought this upon yourself.

So yesterday I had something happen while opening that really scared me. I’m a key holder, started in Feb thinking I could handle the responsibility, I’ve been a key holder at a couple previous jobs. I thought because of how large our store is I would always have at least two/three people to work it. Usually it’s just me and a cashier, this raises my anxiety because if someone wanted to hurt the store it could very easily be done. I also expected the stores to open and close with two people. I have my cashier with me when I close. But the problem was when I opened yesterday. I open by myself and my cashier comes in an hour later. I was bringing my registers up, and I saw two large men standing in my entry way. Everything happened quickly but one of the guys ripped open my door and stepped in. (Y’all I truly wanted to just call 911 right that second) I yelled excuse me what are you doing?? The guy who was inside said they were supposed to do electrical work? “We’re supposed to be doing som kind of wiring” I asked for paperwork (a work order) something that showed me they were supposed to be in my store. And they suddenly started backing away and going “nah nah this must be the wrong store” and left without doing anything. It was the weirdest… scariest thing that’s happened so far. It’s made me realize that at 26 maybe I am trying to take on too much. The SM couldn’t be bothered to answer her phone when I tried calling to tell her what happened. My ASM (I love him and he’s truly a huge part of why I’m still here) he realized how scary a situation that was for me, and assured me no one was supposed to come work on anything. Do any of our stores open with 2 people? I feel like safety wise it just makes sense right?? Sorry for the long ramble, I just wanted to share and see if anyone else had experienced anything like this. I feel bad that it scared me so much, but maybe if I hadn’t been totally alone in the store it wouldn’t have been so scary..?

[Disclaimer] This post is not intended towards any group, ethnicity or any religious social structure. This post should be considered a vent, a point where all we can relate and discover a way forward.
I am 26M. Coming from a medium class family, We all can relate how difficult it is to shape yourself to survive in this country both Financially and Morally.
I will share the sequence of events we all go through in life in here and relate it to current point in life.
[Education]
I did my bachelors in software engineering from a famous Pak uni, which is considred reputable in their research work and boasts itself to be the among the top 300 university Young University Rankings 2023. I spent 4 years, leaving my home, parents and friends, in another city to get what some would call "education". out of 42 subjects only 2 of the subjects taught in my university are related to my job and those topics were not covered in during classes. Either the professor had no idea what these topics were or it was the constraint of syllabus. We will never know.
Next is the FYP, the requirements were to use new technology & frameworks to complete the projects. The disappointing thing is this those technologies were neither taught in any of the course work not indicated or directed by professors. I had to invest approximately 80K on a bootcamp seperately to learn these technologies which would help me complete this project.
Later, the guy who is interviewing had no sense of these technologies and he is just trying to cope with asking question like

• why didn't you this technology (a 1990s technology)?
• do u have any customer? (for God sake, it's an FYP, uni didn't give us a penny to broaden our scope)
• can you share the code, we will see if we can utilise it, afterwards we can discuss internship opportunities?

BTW the guy was ex-telenor employee who was interviewing me.
[Research]
During all this is happening, the project and all of this stuff. i was very optimistic and delusional about the future of Pak, I helped the post doc professor implement patterns recognition algorithms and from that he published 2 research papers, after much confrontation, he atleast put me as a co-author.
[Job]
Now, the degree is in hand, the covid is at it's peak, no ceremony of graduation was celebrated. Regardless, i am hunting for job like crazy, i had only 2 things under my belt, the research paper, the project we did in uni, nothing else more. I kept applying, applying & applying but getting rejected, no interviews or the one where i was offered 4 jobs and the median salary they offered me was 18K PKR. one interviewer said "it's sad you rejected the offer, other candidates are willing to work @ this rate", i was shocked
The awakening is happening for me at this point. At that point AI was booming so i took a software engineering course again invested 40K, purchased a bootcamp course and it was difficult for me as AI / ML requires good math knowledge. Forgive me for my assumption but majority of pakistani including me at the very top sucked at maths (linear algebra, calculus). The problem is not again have to do with us, we were never actually taught to think objectively and applications of mathematics.
That was the point i realised, i am in a deep hole. Medium class family with 3 other siblings, single earner Father now had to support 3 other sibling with education.
Now what i should do? I contacted different HR Recruitment Agency but they required me to give 30% income to them, after being hired for the 2 years.
I said, you know what, i am gonna eat that forbidden fruit and ask for a reference. I asked Father to find me a reference. He was against it, i asked friends and relatives, turns out they were in the same boat as i was.
At this point, the girl i was seeing is being married to another man, as i had no ground to stand for rishta (according to her mother).
fast forward, 6 months have passed. I was contacted by a junior in uni of mine and he had some problems in their software and wanted to discuss the possible solution as he was referred by someone else. we got to talking and he raised that his brother is in a company wants IT Engineer, i said refer me to him, he did and he arranged 1 interview and all was good. Initial offer was 55k but i got hired on 75k, since GM was too fond of the person i was referred by.
[Now]
Now, i am working with a US based company in Pak. I am doing good but the pay is shit as compared to the angraiz.
Pak + India team actually really do get along and we are like brothers & sister there. We both are there in a same boat. We work like 5x more than angraiz but we are not compensated according to their standards. We have discussed with HR and the compliance and regulation things gets surfaced e.g something to do with Minimum Pay Requirements, Tax Reduction Strategy and God knows what.
[Frustration]
Me & my father pay annualy tax in Lakhs. The other day there was no light and gas for 12 hours consecutive. The UPS turned off and without electricity a tax paying family is suffering without no reason. Our generator is on gas and petrol. So, i went ahead and tried to purchase petrol so we can atleast get the electricity atleast. There was a hartaal (bycott) on petrol pump (don't know the reason). For the next consecutive 3 days, the 12 hours load shedding cycle remained.
It really made me sad to see my father drained in sweat in his old skin and white hairs and my mother's dupatta was all wet with sweat. I tried to ask for prices in solar, the total cost is around 14 Lakh which we cannot afford.
At that point said f**k it!
I am now trying to apply for foreign countries but it seems like they don't Pak engineer anymore. There are a lot of people trying to get out of here and it's gonna increase as forecasting the country's condition.
The Paki's there did no favor to our condition either, not majority but very small percentage participates in the acts of thievery, rape and other stuff. The media there also do no justice as representing the behaviour of an individual they try to mask it with national behaviour.
[The Sad Part]
The people who have struggled here and went foreign also do not support the people in the situation like i am. They are in another level of delusional superiority complex. I have talked to several of them and they would say general stuff just to end the conversation "Apply kartay rahain, refer hum nai kar saktay" or "there is no referal system here" etc.
The whole purpose of this rant is to show, how i tried and failed to be perfect in this country and what happened. Also, I hope, my experience can help you in any way.

TLDR; 24F Constant arguments with mother, paying for house utilities, younger brother provisions, a few personal finances, mother wants to charge 800$ rent in what feels like retaliation, I want to move out but don't want to be in a bad financial spot.
I 24F college graduate, work a contracting position starting to make decent money. I have been working since i graduated for two years. I make 65K a year. i have been working here for a little under 6 months, before I was making 50k (Yay for the jump in salary). I max out my 401k, and I pay 185 a month for health insurance.
My issue here is my mother. The older I get, the less respect she seems to have for me as an adult simply on the basis of she is my mother so she can say and do anything she wants because she feels justified as she "only wants the best for me"
We recently got into an argument after I volunteered to her that i occasionally partake in marijuana. She got very agressive, very rude and then destructive of my property. I left the house for a week and then came back. In retaliation, she decided I now need to pay 800$ in rent. Whenever we get into a spat, suddenly I need to pay more. As my expenses are right now, i pay the electric bill which ranges from 330-365$, the Internet 93$, car insurance 240 (Theres three people on the car insurance for a total monthly bill of 424. I'm paying about half of it) and phone 100. I send the car insurance and phone to zelle through my mother. The 100 for phone is for my younger brother and my phone bill. Just the device and the insurance because my tmobile line is free. I also handle my younger brothers personal finances while he's in school. Money for groceries, clothes, books, etc.. things that he needs apart from his tuition and housing. Roughly let's say its about 300$ a month, . I do my share of the house work and grocery shopping for the home/ if my mother needs things from the store. When she needs something, she'll ask me if i need the money for it and then she will give me her coin purse and then a list of items to buy that clearly cost more than what I was given. I don't complain about it. I usually just set it down and use my own money to buy it without saying I need to be paid back and all as much as she claims she will pay me back etc..
We recently went on a small vacation and i paid for me and my younger brother, around 8k. Unfortunately a lot was going on around this time and my savings took a hit because of this. I've been rebuilding.
Whenever they do house renovations, my mother wants me to help pay for it. I live in the basement and recently paid 1.5k to help them redo the floors because the carpet bothered my mom so much. I kept saying we could get it cleaned, but she was against it and I gave in and paid for it. She now wants to put up a wall in my room, to separate my room from the laundry room so that (her reason is: she saw it in our neighbors home and thought it was good to allow some privacy in the basement. This was her idea, I didn't ask for it. I said from the very beginning that i don't have the money to pay for that. It's a pain having my room so open but I have never complained to her about it. She brought it up and said I have to pay the materials which I disagree to and it caused a slight argument.
She claims I don't pay rent or contribute to the house hold so it's only fair that I pay 800$ in addition. That paying for wifi should be counted as a "personal" expense because I need it to work my remote job, even though I completely disagree. The mortgage is about 2k. (Are you wondering if my dad helps pay anything? Because apparently what he does is he helps pay for the home is the mortgage). In talking with my father he has told me that he prefers i move out, that My mother and I can't handle disagreements and until i move out, theres no such thing as being treated like an adult because my mother simply wont see it that way.
I agree with him. As soon as my mother doesn't get what she wants out of me, or I do something or dress someway she doesn't agree, she becomes this super rude, and super aggressive person to me. The person i date, the clothes i wear, the things I choose to spend my money on. When i don't engage she will follow me around to yell at me and I will get annoyed and snap back by being petty or disrespectful in how I speak. Now it feels like teen years again. She is the only one I have this issue with.
It's one thing to say you need help with house finances so we should be able to sit down and discuss so that I have the ability to properly save and help out as much as i can where I can, but continuously using it as a power move..I feel slighted here.\
I have been wanting to move out for a while, this past year I was set back some, but the goal has always been to build enough to have a good emergency fund so I can move out. I told her to give me two months first and then she brought up how my dad said I wanted to move out. I explained that me wanting to move out has nothing to do with our argument as I had always planned to move out and I've expressed since I graduated school that I will not be staying home 'till I get married. This however has made me want to speed up the process.
I know realistically, two months isn't enough time for me to get to where I want to be, but while I'm working towards it, how do I move forward on this with her? Am I being unreasonable? I understand that in me saying give me 2 months, it was from a place of annoyance instead of straight up just saying no to 800, especially because i don't want to put myself in a bad financial spot even though part of me wants to say fuck it and figure it out if it means having my own sense of peace in my own place.

Asslamualikum to everyone I've done my FSc med from Grw. This is my gap year because I'm gonna give additional math exam. I'm basically gonna go for electrical engineering NUST and ISSB (army engineering after PMA (parents dream)) so please can anyone can tell me which one is best .FYI I don't have passion for any field(don't know why) I just want some good high earning job