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.

I got an email yesterday that Bank of America closed my credit card with no warning at all. This has never happened to me before and I am pretty upset. I spent the whole day yesterday trying to get a reason from them on why my account was closed and I was unable to get a concrete answer. I spoke to a manager yesterday and they said it could be due to my recent payment being returned. End of April my chase account was locked due to fraudulent charges once it was resolved I called BofA to make a payment via phone from my chase account.
I was never notified that my payment didn’t go through( I have money in the account) and they continued to try to charge and the payment was returned. BofA said I need to call chase to send a letter stating my account was locked. I called chase and they’re saying they can’t do that but they can possibly do a conference call.
At this point, I’m just so frustrated with BofA that I want to cut my losses but I’m afraid how this will impact my credit. I have 4K balance and will be paying it off by July.

Actually, the symbolic physical act was drinking wine, as in the OT Passover meal. In the communion, the wine represents the blood of Jesus. Jesus used wine as a symbol for his blood, which signified his sacrifice on the cross. He was the Lamb of God of the Passover, taking away the sins of the world.
Leviticus 17:

11 For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life.

What about the partaking of the blood?
Again, we are not talking about drinking physical blood.
John 6:

55 For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. 56 Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.

The physical life of the physical flesh is in the physical blood. The animated life of the human spirit is in the precious blood of Jesus. Communion is one collective way to feed our human spirits. It grows and strengthens our spiritual life. This is not just a metaphor or symbol. This is a spiritual reality. Believe it.
Why would Jesus use drinking blood as a symbol at all since it is misleading?
It was a radical idea and easily misunderstood as some form of cannibalism. It tested the loyalty of the listeners. John 6:

60 When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?”

They left Jesus.

65 And he said, “This is why I told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted him by the Father.” 66 After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. 67 So Jesus said to the twelve, “Do you want to go away as well?” 68 Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, 69 and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.”

The loyal ones passed the test. They stayed.
This test continues today. Some pass, and some fail. If one digs deeper into the symbolism and typology, he will find the deeper significance of spiritual reality, as I have tried to do in this OP. Communion feeds the participants' human spirits to strengthen them into the Oneness of the Body of Christ.
Have you passed this loyalty test? :)

I just got back from my first assessment and I feel rather lost and disappointed. The man who assessed me seemed to be a bit stuck on the idea that I couldn’t possibly be autistic simply because I had good eye contact and because my body language didn’t seem unusual. This was after I told him about all of my struggles and what made me believe that I’m autistic.
I’ve done a lot of research on autism and finally felt like I had the answer to why I am the way that I am, but he seemed to think that someone who’s autistic acts a certain way. So that apparently dismisses all my other symptoms that relate to autism.
He also seemed very unprepared, and kept going off topic with questions that seemed irrelevant. He didn’t do any sort of test, all he did was ask me questions he could think of at the top of his head. Overall felt like he was very stuck in his beliefs of what it means to be autistic, but I keep reading that autism is a wide spectrum, and that everyone struggles with different things. Isn’t that true?
Has anyone had a similar situation with getting diagnosed as an adult? Is he stuck in his beliefs, or simply inexperienced with diagnosing adults? I’m trying to find out what to do next. He said he wants to talk to my mom to get an idea of what I was like as a kid, so I guess it all comes down to what my mom says about me now?

I wanted to give someone hope that it is possible to pass nclex. I have reading everyone comments either pass or fail nclex. Fast forward I graduated August 2023, took my first attempt August 2 because everyone was passing I thought I could just do it without fully review. I failed with 85q. Second attempt I use archer failed, third attempt archer failed. 4th attempt Uworld and archer I went up to 135, ran out time and I didn't passed.
But, my 5th I attempt I did it different. I purchased Uworld 60 days package finished everything, review the rational either I got it right or wrong, I wrote tons of notes two days before exam I review my notes.
I decided to purchase bootcamp after I finish Uworld. But, I only used case study and the 4 readiness assessment. After the struggle during my nursing school and life challenges I am glad to say that today RN is attached to my name. If you're a repeat test taker do not give up. You got it!!

Game Ready & Studio Driver 555.85 has been released.

Article Here: https://www.nvidia.com/en-us/geforce/news/f1-24-senuas-saga-hellblade-2-geforce-game-ready-drive
Game Ready Driver Download Link: Link Here
Studio Driver Download Link: Link Here
New feature and fixes in driver 555.85:
Game Ready - This new Game Ready Driver provides the best gaming experience for the latest new games supporting DLSS 3 technology including F1 24, Senua's Saga: Hellblade II, and Serum. Further support for new titles includes the launch of XDefiant which supports NVIDIA Reflex.
Applications - The May NVIDIA Studio Driver provides optimal support for the latest new creative applications and updates including Mozilla Firefox which now supports RTX Video Super Resolution and HDR.
Fixed Gaming Bugs

• Tekken 8 may randomly crash during gameplay on GeForce GTX 10-series graphics cards. [4503216]
• Horizon Forbidden West Complete Edition: Lower GPU utilization when Reflex is set to “On + Boost” [4412035]

Fixed General Bugs

• Blender Cycles: Motion blur renders incorrectly with some GPU architectures [4607411]

Open Issues

• No open issues to note for this release.

Additional Open Issues from GeForce Forums

• Microsoft New Teams/Microsoft New Outlook displays visual artifacts when MFAA is enabled from the NVIDIA Control Panel [4608670]

Driver Downloads and Tools
Driver Download Page: Nvidia Download Page
Latest Game Ready Driver: 555.85 WHQL
Latest Studio Driver: 555.85 WHQL
DDU Download: Source 1 or Source 2
DDU Guide: Guide Here
DDU/WagnardSoft Patreon: Link Here
Documentation: Game Ready Driver 555.85 Release Notes Studio Driver 555.85 Release Notes
NVIDIA Driver Forum for Feedback: Driver 555.85 Forum Link
Submit driver feedback directly to NVIDIA: Link Here
RodroG's Driver Benchmark: TBD
NVIDIA Discord Driver Feedback: Invite Link Here
Having Issues with your driver? Read here!
Before you start - Make sure you Submit Feedback for your Nvidia Driver Issue
There is only one real way for any of these problems to get solved, and that’s if the Driver Team at Nvidia knows what those problems are. So in order for them to know what’s going on it would be good for any users who are having problems with the drivers to Submit Feedback to Nvidia. A guide to the information that is needed to submit feedback can be found here.
Additionally, if you see someone having the same issue you are having in this thread, reply and mention you are having the same issue. The more people that are affected by a particular bug, the higher the priority that bug will receive from NVIDIA!!
Common Troubleshooting Steps

• Be sure you are on the latest build of Windows 10 or 11
• Please visit the following link for DDU guide which contains full detailed information on how to do Fresh Driver Install.
• If your driver still crashes after DDU reinstall, try going to Go to Nvidia Control Panel -> Managed 3D Settings -> Power Management Mode: Prefer Maximum Performance

If it still crashes, we have a few other troubleshooting steps but this is fairly involved and you should not do it if you do not feel comfortable. Proceed below at your own risk:

• A lot of driver crashing is caused by Windows TDR issue. There is a huge post on GeForce forum about this here. This post dated back to 2009 (Thanks Microsoft) and it can affect both Nvidia and AMD cards.
• Unfortunately this issue can be caused by many different things so it’s difficult to pin down. However, editing the windows registry might solve the problem.
• Additionally, there is also a tool made by Wagnard (maker of DDU) that can be used to change this TDR value. Download here. Note that I have not personally tested this tool.

If you are still having issue at this point, visit GeForce Forum for support or contact your manufacturer for RMA.
Common Questions

• Is it safe to upgrade to ? Fact of the matter is that the result will differ person by person due to different configurations. The only way to know is to try it yourself. My rule of thumb is to wait a few days. If there’s no confirmed widespread issue, I would try the new driver.

Bear in mind that people who have no issues tend to not post on Reddit or forums. Unless there is significant coverage about specific driver issue, chances are they are fine. Try it yourself and you can always DDU and reinstall old driver if needed.

• My color is washed out after upgrading/installing driver. Help! Try going to the Nvidia Control Panel -> Change Resolution -> Scroll all the way down -> Output Dynamic Range = FULL.
• My game is stuttering when processing physics calculation Try going to the Nvidia Control Panel and to the Surround and PhysX settings and ensure the PhysX processor is set to your GPU
• What does the new Power Management option “Optimal Power” means? How does this differ from Adaptive? The new power management mode is related to what was said in the Geforce GTX 1080 keynote video. To further reduce power consumption while the computer is idle and nothing is changing on the screen, the driver will not make the GPU render a new frame; the driver will get the one (already rendered) frame from the framebuffer and output directly to monitor.

Remember, driver codes are extremely complex and there are billions of different possible configurations. The software will not be perfect and there will be issues for some people. For a more comprehensive list of open issues, please take a look at the Release Notes. Again, I encourage folks who installed the driver to post their experience here... good or bad.
Did you know NVIDIA has a Developer Program with 150+ free SDKs, state-of-the-art Deep Learning courses, certification, and access to expert help. Sound interesting? Learn more here.

25F, diagnosed with ADHD in 2021. Diagnosis came by accident, the psychiatrist was actually testing me for autism. However, during the assessment the doctor asked me how I was managing my ADHD, and because I didn’t know I had ADHD, it started a chain reaction of a variety of psychiatrists and doctor visits for a formal ADHD diagnosis. And also a suspected learning disability.
Long story short, we never got back on track for assessing for autism. And now I am on medication for ADHD, and my quality of life as improved significantly, however, I feel like there are now more autistic traits at the forefront. But I think I manage them quite well, and am not really sure if seeking out some more answers regarding autism and whether or not I may have it is worth it?
Getting diagnosed with ADHD actually had a severely big impact on my relationship with my mother in an extremely negative way and I’m not sure if it’s worth it….
Any advice or suggestions? Feeling pretty confused.

I already have a diagnosis for OCD and ADHD. However, because of recent personal events, I feel I have personality disorders as well. I even checked some of the Clusters and it looks like I had a few across all three clusters. Because testing is expensive and takes long to get an appointment, is there a website where I can have a preliminary/rough assessment of which clusters I might be in before asking for a specific diagnosis test for any of the PDs?

So I was listening to a podcast by comedian Andrew Heaton (X), and he had a very interesting episode examining people's nostalgia for the American 1950's complete with humorous skits. For illustration's sake he assumed 50's America was another country called "Fiftiesland" and compared it's stats like GDP or live expectancy to Modern America. He conclude that a lot of the nostalgia came from how many astonishing improvements happened between 1900-1950 vs 1950-2024, even though Modern America is superior in almost every metric.
At the end he had a long monologue where he was trying to explain to his fictional Grandma Edna Bickle, born in 1889 and elderly by the 50's, what it'd be like in the future compared to how she grew up. Imagine trying to explain Netflix to someone who grew up with a radio.
It really demonstrates, in a lighthearted way, just how far we've come in ~125 years.
So imagine how astonishing the world will be in another 100, 300, or 500 years...
Anyway, it's a bit of a read, but I thought some of you all might enjoy it and Mr Heaten was nice enough to send me the transcript. Enjoy!

My great grandmother, Edna, was born in 1889. My Dad and I were recently reminiscing about her, and he said, “Gramma Bickle, tough old bird, tough old bird. Went blind at ninety-two, quit driving at ninety-four, died at ninety-six. Almost lived in three different centuries.” I have some immediate questions about that chronology, and the realization that Gramma Bickle apparently drove her car blind for two full years before handing her keys in, but I digress.
In 1954 my great gramma Bickle was sixty-five years old. Think about how the country changed from her childhood to her golden years. From when she was born, to a little younger than my parents are today, she saw an entire country go from horse and buggies and pretty much nobody owning a car, to almost everybody has a car. Only six percent of the homes in America had electricity when she was a teenager. By the mid nineteen fifties, the whole country is throbbing with electricity.
In her lifetime, the country went from basically no light bulbs, radios, telephones, refrigerators, or washing machines, to a country where all of that stuff is ubiquitous.
In the year 1900, only ten percent of American households had a stove in them. By 1960,--when my great grandmother is the same age as my parents are now—95% of households do. When she was born, anti-biotics didn’t exist, and polio could cripple your baby. By the time she’s my age, penicillen—a miracle drug!—has been invented. By the time she’s my parents’ age, penicillen is widely available and some genius has recently invented a polio vaccine.
So, if we’re looking at Fiftiesland as a country around today, here’s what’s going on. All of the old people in this country, in their lifetime, went from a horse-and-buggy 19th century third world economy with polio and no electricity—something that, if it existed today, we would be sending anthropoligsts to—to a more modern second world economy perhaps akin to contemporary Guatemala. Which is no small jump.
And the people my age who live in Fiftiesland are still celebrating kicking the crap out of the Nazis, inventing the atom bomb, and enjoying an economy which is comparatively booming—because all of the neighboring economies are rubble.
If Gramma Bickle, at forty years old, my age now, could somehow visit me in contemporary America—she would think I made a pact with Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness. Or maybe, maybe her progeny somehow goes on to conquer Oklahoma as warlords, and all her great grandchildren become opulant Oriental sultans.
I have an icebox in my kitchen that’s powered by lightning that lives in my wall. I have another smaller box that makes my food hot by shooting it with invisible particles like the ray gun from War of the Worlds.
Not only do I let my dog sleep in a tiny bed inside my house, like a toddler, we just finished up a round of antiobitics from when he cut his foot. My great-grandfather—this is true—lived with tuburculosis for years before it finally killed him. Anyway, see that dog I make wear a necktie for my amuesment? Yeah, my dog takes miracle drugs unavailable to John D. Rockefeller. Last year Wallace got elbow cancer but the doctor fixed that, no problem, took a couple of months. Wallace literally has better medical treatment available to him a mile from my house than any human being alive in 1950.
Gramma, you wanna watch Netflix, Paramount Plus, HBO, Peacock, or Amazon Prime? It’s television. Well, television is sort of like radio, only much better, and with images, and I can watch it whenever I want, and there are thousands of options. Like, imagine Broadway, only, like, a few thousand of them, and they’re all inside of that rectangle.
Huh, yeah, I’m not explaining that very well. Right. Okay, so you know how in your time you know multiple people who were literally slaves at some point in their life? Like, you personally know some older people who were, at one point, legally a form of property?
So basically, I have this glass rectangle on my wall that a million of the world’s greatest comedians and dramatists live inside of as my slaves, and they put on plays for me when I’m tired after work. Except I don’t have to feed them or pay them because I use my friend Nick’s HBO account. They just eat the lightning that lives in my wall.
What? Oh yes, I get very tired from work, Gramma. Really get [sigh] worn out, you know? Well, you know how your dad was a wheatfarmer, who spent hours and hours plowing through dust and boneshards in Indian Territory, where he might literally be shot by a Commanche, and the threat of looming starvation for the entire family was never more than one drout away?
Right, so I… I talk for a living. Yeah, that’s right. No, a bunch of strangers just sort of send me money every month cause they enjoy hearing me talk. It’s actually very challenging. Because! Gramma, I do a lot research, you see. Like for this episode, I had to read a lot, and I had to do a lot of math. No, I did not personally do the math.
I have another magical rectangle that has several thosuand math slaves trapped inside that do the actual math for me. When I was a kid I had to perssonally punch the equations in myself, and the rectantle would crunch the numbers. Those were hard times. Now I have a smarter glass rectangle that I can just talk to. I just type in, “Hey, average these ten numbers, okay” and there’s, I dunno, like translater slaves that talk to the math slaves, and they all figure out whatever I’m trying to say, increasingly in lower case and with minimal punctuation, and then give me the answer.
But I have to do the research. Like, I have to read a lot. No, I don’t go to a library. I have another rectangle that has all of the world’s libraries inside of it, and also a lot of pornography, so I just stay at home and look at that particular rectangle, alteranting between research and pornography depending on my mood.
It sure is tough, Gramma. I don’t have any coworkers to keep me company. I’m all by myself here in my well-lit, smokeless, air conditionined home. That’s right, air conditioning! Not just in my house, either—in my camper—which is a tiny extra house I tow behind my armored, self-propelling buggy, which I feed fermented dinosaur juice they pump out of the ground. Oh yeah. It has a rectangle in it that plays music. I’d say I have roughly… three to eight million musician slaves who live in the rectangle in my car, so I don’t get bored when driving to the movies, which is a very large rectangle I go to when I’m tired of watching rectangles on my couch.
What? Good question. It’s called a “camper” because I go camping in it. It’s sort of my hobby. You see, Gramma, my life is so stupidly cushy and comfortable that I amuse myself by going out into the woods to forego wall lightning, air conditioning, and even pornography sometimes, when I can’t get a signal, and instead I sit in a hammock and shit in holes I dig for fun. We call that “roughing it.” For sport, I spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars doing what your entire family did their entire lives until they finally got indoor plumbing, except of course my camper has a propane stove built in, whereas your pioneer family had to dig a hole in the side of a hill and cower in it from the weather like cavemen while burning cow dung for warmth. I dunno where propane comes from. Probably dinosaur farts or something.
Anyway, I prefer to travel around in my camper rather than fly—that’s right, fly—yeah, like a spitfire pilot—which I do multiple times a year using frequent flier points. Which are sort of free, imaginary coupons that banks give me to thank me for using their credit cards, which are also rectangles, but these particular rectangles are small and flat and full of slave bankers that live in my pocket, next to my nine-billion dollar super computer I mostly use as a map, so I don’t have to go through the hassle of folding and unfolding maps, and also to send funny pictures to people in Scotland, in between watching porn in the woods.
I digress. Let’s all take a deep breath. Somebody from my great grandmother’s generation, who lived long enough to be an adult in Fiftiesland, would rightly think: We live in a golden age! We live in the future!
Back in contemporary America, my parents are in their early seventies. My parents today are about how old Gramma Bickle was at the end of the 1950s. And the jump isn’t bad, but it’s not nearly as mind-blowing. The developments they’ve seen since childhood are very impressive in terms of computers and telecommunications and medicine, but otherwise, the world they live in is a more efficient, clever version of the world they grew up in. Cars are safer and more comfortable and fuel efficient, but they’re still basically cars. LED lights are cheaper than incandescent bulbs, but they’re still essentially electric lights. Penicillan is better, but it’s still just clinical mold that strategically murders errant bacteria.
If Fiftiesland were a country, rather than our own history, we would pretty much look at it sort of how we see the poorer parts of Latin America or Eastern Europe: a very nice place with lovely people, wonderful to visit, try the food. Get some funky vintage clothes while you’re there.
But a comparatively poor economy to America or Western Europe. You wouldn’t want to immigrate there for the money. And also, not surprisingly, some views about gender, sex before marriage, having kids really young, having lots of kids, and skepticism about homosexuality that a globetrotter and even quite a few conservatives today might be tempted to call “quaint” or “traditional.”
Basically, if Fiftiesland were a country today, we would view it like Honduras or Moldova, or maybe Czechoslavkia after the wall came down.

Hi everyone. I'm seeking some advice on kind of a complex situation. Law students would be really good to answer this but ofc anyone can answer.
I'm 21NB. I got pretty good GCSEs and went on to do A Levels. I always had a passion in Law so I picked that alongside Maths and Physics. My grades were - A in Law, B in Maths, and D in Physics. I also did an Extended Project Qualification (worth half an A Level) on the topic of North Korean law. I got a B.
Without getting into it too much, I have suffered with bad mental health issues most of my life but always tried not to let that hold me back. I have pretty much always been getting professional help at any given time.
Once I finished in 2021 I decided I wanted to do a degree in Law with the hope of becoming a criminal barrister. I got into a university that was quite far from home and moved into halls. Everything was fine at first, but my mental health got really bad and it would have been unsafe to stay. Very hard decision but I dropped out a few months into the first year (2022).
I moved back home and spent the next year and a bit really working on myself. I got a job in a shop (upper part time, sometimes full time) to get some income and help me keep occupied. I decided I was well enough to go back to university and try again, starting September 2023 (in Law again). I intentionally chose a university much nearer to home, but opted to move into halls again for the experience of that.
Unfortunately the same thing happened again, actually much worse this time because of certain things that happened. I left even earlier; November 2023. Again, an even harder decision to leave. I also quit my retail job. I originally interrupted my studies rather than withdrew, unlike the first time, with the intention of coming back in September 2024. It would be my 3rd time.
I contacted the university recently asking if I could change my status to withdrawn. I did this because:

1. I'm still very unwell and am not optimistic that I could get through the degree safely. I also think even if I got through I wouldn't do very well.
2. My mum, who I live with, is moving far so I'm planning to move to my dad's so that I'm closer to family down here. But, he's kinda far from the uni and I don't have a car yet.
3. Withdrawing means I have full flexibility to go back anytime in my life if I wanted to. Meaning I don't have to put a date on my recovery (which you can't really do).
4. I am beginning to realise maybe university is just not for me and I should try alternative routes like apprenticeships.
5. I am questioning whether the Law profession in general is really suited to me, even though I am passionate about it. There are other things I would consider doing.
6. I already have £16,000 in student loan debt.

Among other things.
I'm really embarrassed to say but I've been out of work or anything since November (I have been really ill but still feel guilty). One of the reasons I want to move to my dad's is so I can get a retail job down there (because if I was going to get a job here I would have to leave it in a few months so it feels like there is no point.) The move is happening in a week. While I'm working I also want to pass my driving test because I haven't done that yet.
I have been thinking a lot about what I could do going forward. I have been looking at solicitor degree apprenticeships but they're very competitive and all require A Levels Grade A-C... but I have a A, B, D. Goddammit Physics. Same with paralegal level 3 apprenticeships (which would give me a much better chance getting onto a solicitor one).
I have been looking at degree apprenticeships in general and they pretty much all have these A Level requirements.
Obviously these options are not exhaustive but if you were me, would you:

1. Eventually go back to university and do Law again.
2. Eventually go back to university but do a degree in another subject.

(Of course these two options would give me more student loan debt.)

1. Try and get another A Level so that I can do these legal apprenticeships (because I can, but it's like £1,000. Plus that's two years of my life.)
   
2. Completely change my career path and possibly do a level 3 apprenticeship (for example in hairdressing.)
   

I'm just very stressed about the future. I really want to succeed and not let this hold me back anymore.
Some examples of other things I would consider doing is nursing, something in music, hair & beauty, administration. To be honest I'd do anything except retail.
Thank you so much in advance.
TL;DR - I have dropped out of university twice because of mental health, want to pursue a career in Law yet at the same time wondering if it is even the right thing, reluctant to go back to university for a lot of reasons but can't get onto the legal apprenticeships with my A Level grades.

My first car was a Honda accord I bought 5 years ago. Although it was a 4 years old used car with almost 100k miles, the salespeople at the dealership were patiently walking me through the car, answering all my questions and accompanying me to the test drive, about 10k USD out of the door also a good deal within my budget at the time. Reliable, beautiful car never had any problems.
Because of my good experience with Honda, I never hesitate to recommend Honda to my friends who are looking for a new car. Two separate cases, I’m with them in two different Honda dealerships, equally terrible experience. One dealership makes 21k CRV almost 29K OTD with extended warranties and anti theft devices, changes sales person in the middle after I tell them we are not paying for what we don’t need, implying me to shut up if I’m not the one who’s buying the car. Another dealership has 2020 civic for 25k, became angry after test drive my friend told them he will consider it but need to test drive other options as well “Don’t test drive it if you are not buying it”. Additionally, both 1.5t engine feels louder than my 2.4L engine.
One of my friends eventually got Mazda cx5, with lower price and better dealership experience, another got same year certified BMW 330i for about same price as the civic.
Is that because of the changes after covid or differences between the states (I got mine from NY, both recent experiences are in the CA)?

I understand it means that over time, a group of people answer more questions correctly on average than they did before. But from my understanding, the average IQ is defined at 100. So if the average is changing, what exactly do people mean when they talk about average IQ increasing? Do people improving their performance on IQ tests make future versions of the test harder to compensate? Or does it just mean you have to get more questions right to have a 100 IQ than previous iterations?

Hello,
I'm working with a 6-year-old child who shows pervasive signs of a neurodevelopmental disorder, specifically autism, although he hasn't been clinically diagnosed yet. He was referred to our center in Morocco for a neuropsychological assessment to determine if he has any intellectual deficits.
However, I'm facing significant challenges. The child is nonverbal and unresponsive, and my attempts to establish a connection with him have been unsuccessful. His mother is eager to get the assessment done quickly.
The child exhibits challenging behaviors: he avoids interaction with me, turns away when I approach, and throws toys and other objects. When I try to intervene, he screams and cries. Despite these issues, the mother prioritizes the assessment over behavioral intervention.
Given these circumstances, is there a way to administer an IQ test to a nonverbal autistic child? What methods can be used to assess his intellectual abilities in this situation?

Hi everyone. I'm seeking some advice on kind of a complex situation. I'm in England so I think this would be best answered by other people in England but of course anyone can answer.
I'm 21NB. I got pretty good GCSEs and went on to do A Levels. I always had a passion in Law so I picked that alongside Maths and Physics. My grades were - A in Law, B in Maths, and D in Physics. I also did an Extended Project Qualification (worth half an A Level) on the topic of North Korean law.
Without getting into it too much, I have suffered with bad mental health issues most of my life but always tried not to let that hold me back. I have pretty much always been getting professional help at any given time.
Once I finished in 2021 I decided I wanted to do a degree in Law with the hope of becoming a criminal barrister. I got into a university that was quite far from home and moved into halls. Everything was fine at first, but my mental health got really bad and it would have been unsafe to stay. Very hard decision but I dropped out a few months into the first year (2022).
I moved back home and spent the next year and a bit really working on myself. I got a job in a shop (upper part time, sometimes full time) to get some income and help me keep occupied. I decided I was well enough to go back to university and try again, starting September 2023 (in Law again). I intentionally chose a university much nearer to home, but opted to move into halls again for the experience of that.
Unfortunately the same thing happened again, actually much worse this time because of certain things that happened. I left even earlier; November 2023. Again, an even harder decision to leave. I also quit my retail job. I originally interrupted my studies rather than withdrew, unlike the first time, with the intention of coming back in September 2024. It would be my 3rd time.
I contacted the university recently asking if I could change my status to withdrawn. I did this because:

1. I'm still very unwell and am not optimistic that I could get through the degree safely. I also think even if I got through I wouldn't do very well.
2. My mum, who I live with, is moving far so I'm planning to move to my dad's so that I'm closer to family down here. But, he's kinda far from the uni and I don't have a car yet.
3. Withdrawing means I have full flexibility to go back anytime in my life if I wanted to. Meaning I don't have to put a date on my recovery (which you can't really do).
4. I am beginning to realise maybe university is just not for me and I should try alternative routes like apprenticeships.
5. I am questioning whether the Law profession in general is really suited to me, even though I am passionate about it. There are other things I would consider doing.
6. I already have £16,000 in student loan debt.

Among other things.
I'm really embarrassed to say but I've been out of work or anything since November (I have been really ill but still feel guilty). One of the reasons I want to move to my dad's is so I can get a retail job down there (because if I was going to get a job here I would have to leave it in a few months so it feels like there is no point.) The move is happening in a week. While I'm working I also want to pass my driving test because I haven't done that yet.
I have been thinking a lot about what I could do going forward. I have been looking at solicitor degree apprenticeships but they're very competitive and all require A Levels Grade A-C... but I have a A, B, D. Goddammit Physics. Same with paralegal level 3 apprenticeships (which would give me a much better chance getting onto a solicitor one).
I have been looking at degree apprenticeships in general and they pretty much all have these A Level requirements.
Obviously these options are not exhaustive but if you were me, would you:

1. Eventually go back to university and do Law again.
2. Eventually go back to university but do a degree in another subject.

(Of course these two options would give me more student loan debt.)

1. Try and get another A Level so that I can do these legal apprenticeships (because I can, but it's like £1,000. Plus that's two years of my life.)
   
2. Completely change my career path and possibly do a level 3 apprenticeship (for example in hairdressing.)
   

I'm just very stressed about the future. I really want to succeed and not let this hold me back anymore.
Some examples of other things I would consider doing is nursing, something in music, hair & beauty, administration. To be honest I'd do anything except retail.
Thank you so much in advance.
TL;DR - I have dropped out of university twice because of mental health, want to pursue a career in Law yet at the same time wondering if it is even the right thing, reluctant to go back to university for a lot of reasons but can't get onto the legal apprenticeships with my A Level grades.

"I will bring the one-third through the fire, will refine them as silver is refined, and test them as gold is tested. They will call on My name, And I will answer them. I will say, 'This is My people'; And each one will say, 'The LORD is my God"
The end of a believer’s journey is to reflect God’s glory to the world bringing about salvation. For each one to say, “The LORD is my God.” Daniel put it this way: “…but the people WHO DO KNOW THEIR GOD shall be strong, and do exploits.”
Disobedience to God’s principles and authorities are ways we inflict ourself with distress. God, in His mercy and wisdom, however, use these period of distress to reveal Himself in our life and set us up for greater exploits.
Other times, God allows distress to comes our way to build capacity for the kingdom impact He desires to birth through us. Believers who are neither refined as silver nor tested as gold becomes a kwashiorkor to the society.
Abraham delayed in child became father of many nations. Moses the stammerer becomes God’s spokesperson. Hanna delayed in child became mother of a prophet. Solomon lacks wisdom became the wisest man.
Are you in your trial times? Be patient! God is working out that situation for your good. #goodnews #Jesuslovesyou #believeandalign

"I will bring the one-third through the fire, will refine them as silver is refined, and test them as gold is tested. They will call on My name, And I will answer them. I will say, 'This is My people'; And each one will say, 'The LORD is my God"
The end of a believer’s journey is to reflect God’s glory to the world bringing about salvation. For each one to say, “The LORD is my God.” Daniel put it this way: “…but the people WHO DO KNOW THEIR GOD shall be strong, and do exploits.”
Disobedience to God’s principles and authorities are ways we inflict ourself with distress. God, in His mercy and wisdom, however, use these period of distress to reveal Himself in our life and set us up for greater exploits.
Other times, God allows distress to comes our way to build capacity for the kingdom impact He desires to birth through us. Believers who are neither refined as silver nor tested as gold becomes a kwashiorkor to the society.
Abraham delayed in child became father of many nations. Moses the stammerer becomes God’s spokesperson. Hanna delayed in child became mother of a prophet. Solomon lacks wisdom became the wisest man.
Are you in your trial times? Be patient! God is working out that situation for your good. #goodnews #Jesuslovesyou #believeandalign