So I've (20M) been anxious and rightfully so because this was quite an usual heated moment between me and another gym bro, please tell me ¹what you think, ²where I could've been better at this interaction and ³what you think I should do if any of this happens again
What happened;
Earlier this afternoon at the gym I wanted to hit a (dips) machine (which I usually don't) and when I got to it I saw a man way over his 30's (prolly middle aged) using it and I indicated him asking (in sign) if he'd like to let me use it while he rests between sets and he replied with "just one set more" so fair, I waited (I hadn't seen the weights yet)
When he was done he just picked his bag and walked off so I tried pushing the weight to see if I'd be able to push this weight for reps which I quickly realized was not possible.
I intended to ask him to return the weights (that's how it's done at our gym the trainer specifically asked me the same at another instance plus it's written all across the gym)
So I called onto him and he couldn't hear me and the trainer indicated him to turn around, when he did I very politely pointed at the weights while saying "I don't need these"
He responded (as if) he didn't understand what I said so I repeated similarly "These are a lot for me"
Again his response was similar to that of "what are you saying" (though he didn't speak yet) so up until here I actually assumed he may have not understood what I was saying since I wasn't speaking English
Switching to English I asked if he spoke English (which he does later), to which he got annoyed and the trainer so to assist me said "he knows" (the native language I spoke earlier)
He finally reciprocated what I was saying and he refused to take the plates used by him and began asking me (in English) "can you not carry them?" to which I replied "I don't want to" in a louder tone and he shouted "Did I bother you?" x3 times
"If you can't carry them don't use them" he yelled (which is so beside the point , quite opposite tbh, meaning that was my whole point) then he walked off and when I put the weights down I said in the native language "are you training for me or what" then the trainer came in between us and made us get back to working out.
What was concerning to me;
I was done working out and went to wash up, 2 mins in I saw him enter the washroom and I intended to ignore him he used the tap next to me and said "So you need to be taught how to talk?" to which I replied "Don't teach me brav" and walked away and he began shouting "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TAUGHT DON'T BEHAVE LIKE THAT" and more stuff then trainer came in and asked me to just leave this, I was trying to explain how I didn't pick it up to begin with and there was a heated moment between the three of us there. I heard him say that I was disrespectful to him; when I asked him to specify he said it was when I said "I don't want to" earlier lmao isn't that what he said as well?

Me and my dismissive avoidant ex broke up in June. He claimed it was for mental health reasons, I stayed and tried my best to support him. We had a conversation not long after where we both maintained we would maintain loyalty. A few weeks later someone tells me he’s on bumble, I could not believe it as he had never lied to me before. His bumble profile said he was ‘he was looking for a relationship’ it just didn’t make sense. But I left it, as he had told me at the time that his friends had created his profile not him. During summer he was diabolical, name calling, telling me he never loved me, just acting up in general. Things did cool down, and eventually we started seeing each other again. My birthday came around and I mentioned that I thought we would do something together, he got mad at me said I was ‘questioning him and calling him a liar’, so I waited.. and waited.. he never ended up doing anything for my birthday. On what would’ve been our 1 year anniversary, he told me he told his co-worker that.. your co-worker??? We met afterwards and he reassured me again and again he would never use the dating app. Fast forward to 2 weeks before Christmas we met to eat, and while discussing a couple we knew dealing with cheating in their relationship, he assured me he would never do that to me. While I knew that we were not ‘official’ I believe there was an understanding based on loyalty. 2 weeks after he supposedly went on bumble matched with someone in Scotland (a whole different country), returned my birthday gift, and first week of February when we were meant to go out to eat he told me just hours before he had switched days with his ex partner in taking care of his child and therefore couldn’t make it. I believed him. I just found out he had actually travelled to Scotland met this 35 year old lady and they had sex - he’s 26. He claims there was not cheating. The whole thing is just diabolical. He had now come back after 4 months of no contact, claiming he was ‘just toxic’.
I told him, that all I expect from him is to cut contact with her so we can try working on us, he’s said he won’t as ‘she didn’t do anything to me’. It’s just cowardly, as he told me it was not worth losing me over but she’s out here posting pics of their date over and over again, so she probs is being led to believe this will become more. Overall the whole situation smells of selfishness, and heartlessness.

It stormed in Starfall.
Perhaps elsewhere, too. Allyria couldn’t be sure. But a storm never kept a raven from its duties, and so surely that wasn’t an excuse for hers to have not yet returned from the North. Not that she was expecting a reply – she never got those from Widow’s Watch – but it was unusual for the bird to be gone as long as it was and Allyria tended to worry about them after a while.
“Maybe he’s stopped to roost with some friends,” she wondered aloud. Birds were social creatures. Not like her.
From the north-facing windows of her tower, Allyria could see that the ironmen’s structures had held through the lashing rains and heavy winds of the past two days and were now awash in noon’s sunshine. Those structures would eventually be home to however many Dornishmen who’d joined the Princess’ caravan thus far on their way to the Great Council.
Time was running out. They’d be here soon.
Allyria thought the sight of the waiting tents might make her sad – a reminder that Lord Erik had gone. But she had his gift to remember him by, and had already filled the secret compartment of the broken-looking far eye with treasures: a sea shell, a few coins, a small figurine of a sheep carved with wood and wrapped in real wool that was given to her when she was a child. She held the lens in her hands, fiddling with it as she gazed out the window in the hope of seeing black wings.
“I am talking to myself,” she said. “When I send letters to Widow’s Watch, I am addressing no one but myself.”
She had been writing the northern holdfast for years now. Allyria thought it a pity that star keepers outside the Citadel did not converse more with one another. She had never been North, and would likely never go, but she knew that the stars would look different from the peninsula jutting into the Shivering Sea than they did from here. Different, too, from Seagard and Bear Island. From the Fingers and from Claw Isle. But while Cailin passed to her the records of those maesters, there was none from that eastern holdfast – the small castle on the lonely strip of land jutting out into the wide, mysterious sea north of Essos.
She wrote them nonetheless.
Her raven always returned, but never brought with it a new message. What was done with the scrolls she attached – handwritten copies of her star charts, occasional questions and observations – she did not know. Perhaps the bird simply dropped them into the sea.
“I ought to stop talking to myself.”
Allyria gathered a few things and headed for the stairs that would take her down from her tower and into Starfall. It wasn’t often that she was awake during the daytime (she had the storm to thank for that) and she could do with some company.
Qoren was the obvious choice, but he had become difficult to find as of late. Perhaps it was because of the impending guests, but whereas normally he’d be waiting outside her chambers by nightfall, now she found herself charting the stars alone, occasionally opening the door to her tower in the hopes of finding him. But she was always disappointed. Tonight she resolved to go further than the top of the tower stairs, however. She’d go all the way to the barracks, if she had to. And it turned out she did.
“Qoren, milady?” The sentry outside seemed doubtful as to whom she was asking for. “The deaf one?”
“Yes, Qoren.”
“I think he’s in the yard with Lady Arianne.”
“Could you tell him I was looking for him when he gets back?”
Satisfied with his obligatory promise to do so, Allyria wandered up to the rookery a second time. Her bird had still not returned. The last message she’d sent Widow’s Watch was an unusual one, which was perhaps why she held out hope that this time, despite years of precedent, would be different. She’d written it half-awake after being pulled from a strange dream. In it, the Dornish Princess arrived at Starfall wrapped in long silk made from moonlight. She’d brought with her a chest and in it were the remains of Ulrich: his ribs, his skull, his arm. The chest was leaking blood all over the floor of the great hall, pooling at the Princess’ feet, but the hem of her silvery gown was not stained. It seemed to sit atop it, like oil upon water.
Allyria had described the dream in her letter and carried it to the rookery while still in her bare feet and nightgown, sleep crusted in her eyes. She’d been in the process of binding it with string when a final thought occurred to her, which she hastily scribbled at the bottom of the parchment.
If the sun sets in the west, how could darkness come from the east?
She pictured the raven stopping to roost in the rocky cliffs of the Prince’s Pass, her letter fastened to its ankle as it caught up with old friends. Perhaps they discussed her ramblings amongst themselves, swapping their own theories about what the cryptic message from the stars meant: darkness comes from the east. Perhaps they lined their nests with her parchment.
She meant to go back to her tower, perhaps catch some precious sleep before night fell and the stars came out, but Allyria found herself instead on one of the balconies overlooking the training yard. It wasn’t noise that drew her there, for Arianne and Qoren were quiet. The only sounds in their training was the shuffling of feet on sandy stone, a soft grunt here and there, the occasional muffled thud of steel greatswords on leather. Allyria wasn’t sure what it was that prompted her to pause and observe.
She leaned over the rail and watched them spar. They did not speak to one another, she noted, communicating only in nods and small gestures. Sometimes, when her sister was concentrating, she stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth. But Arianne’s expression now was grim. She blocked and parried. She watched how Qoren moved his feet and imitated the motions.
Then, the sky darkened. For a moment, Allyria thought a new storm was rolling in. But this was a different sort of darkness. It was as though someone were slowly draping a veil over the whole world… except that she could see a thin layer of orange on the horizon, just beyond the castle’s walls. There, in the distance, it was day. But above Starfall, quite suddenly, it was night. The temperature sank, frogs in the banks of the Torrentine began to croak, shadows sprung up where none had been, and those that were there grew blacker, more distinct.
Allyira might have thought she were imagining things, but Arianne and Qoren had stopped their sparring and turned their gazes towards the heavens, along with every sentry on the wall. Around them, and around Allyria, too, guards were similarly staring at the sky in confusion and wonder. But no one spoke. They were all looking at the same sun – now a ball of black with only a thin halo of light around it – in a tense kind of confusion. It was disorienting. Allyria felt her heart thumping in her chest and realised, as though from a distance, that she was frightened. She had lived her whole life within these walls and yet the sight before her now was of another world.
So, too, were her sister and Qoren. Arianne was in the shade of the balcony but the steel of Qoren’s sword reflected a bar of silver light across her face. Beside her pale features, Qoren’s grew even darker in the black shadow – his dark hair was now black as pitch, his eyes obscured beneath black brows, even his armour, dyed leather, was black.
Darkness comes from the east.
Whole minutes passed before the day’s second sunrise seemed to happen before her eyes: the sky lightened, shadows returned to where they ought have been, and the sun grew bright and yellow once more. The frogs and the bank insects grew silent. Birds sang again.
Allyria flew.
Past guards, past guests, past the members of Starfall’s counsel, all headed in a panicked confusion towards the courtyard, Allyria ran. She took the stairs of the Palestone Sword tower two at a time, losing a sandal along the way but abandoning it entirely.
How could I have been so stupid? she wondered. Darkness from the east! It wasn’t the tree, it was never the tree!
In her chamber she found her desk in a state of disarray. Her work had been much more organised with Qoren’s involvement and the absence of it showed.
Darkness comes from the east. Dawn. Dawn!
She hadn’t yet found the chart she was looking for when she heard a pounding on the door. She ran to it quickly, dragging open the heavy wooden board and finding an unexpected face on the other side. Her confusion must have shown, because the steward began with his explanation.
“I don’t mean to disturb you, my lady, but a raven came and I thought you would want to read it right away.”
Allyria blinked.
“It’s from Widow’s Watch.”
She snatched the scroll from Colin’s hand the moment he showed it, unravelling it hastily as she rushed back to her desk. The astrolabe sat crooked on the wall. She didn’t realise she’d accidentally knocked it askew in her haste.
Pressing the parchment flat against her desk, she read the words written in an unfamiliar hand.
You are missing the second half of your riddle:
bringing with it dawn.
A drawing was etched beneath it and Allyria scanned the markings quickly. They painted a picture of the night sky, each star’s position carefully logged. The Crone’s Lantern, the Ghost and the Galley, the Sword of the Morning…
“It’s Qoren.”
Allyrica looked up from the paper at the astrolabe on the wall. The device that had deceived her.
“The next Sword of the Morning. It’s Qoren.”

Taken from: https://www.theringer.com/movies/2024/5/21/24161120/greatest-movie-car-chase-scenes-ranked-furiosa-mad-max-saga
In honor of the imminent ‘Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga,’ we’re shifting into high gear to determine the best chase scene in cinema history
By Miles Surrey May 21, 2024, 6:30am EDTGetty Images/Ringer illustration
After wowing audiences with Mad Max: Fury Road, director George Miller returns to the franchise’s post-apocalyptic wastelands for Furiosa, the epic origin story of the eponymous heroine (now played by Anya Taylor-Joy), premiering on Friday. As the follow-up to one of the greatest action films ever made, it’s hard to overstate the hype for Furiosa, and that was before word got out about a showstopping 15-minute sequence that required nearly 200 stuntpeople and took 78 days to shoot. While Furiosa will have its own distinct flavor, as is true of every Mad Max movie, there’s one thing that unites these projects: intense, jaw-dropping scenes of vehicular mayhem. And what better way to honor the franchise than by celebrating what it does best?
Ahead of Furiosa’s release, we’ve put together our definitive ranking of the best car chases in cinema. There weren’t any strict rules in place, other than capping the list at 20—mostly for my own sanity—and limiting every franchise to one entry. (Apologies to Fury Road’s kickass predecessor The Road Warrior.) We also won’t discriminate against scenes that feature motorbikes, so long as cars (and/or trucks) remain part of the equation. As for what, exactly, constitutes a good car chase? Like list making, it’s bound to be subjective, but I tend to gravitate toward two key elements: the skill of the stuntwork on display and the ways in which a filmmaker conveys the action in relation to the story. (Also, the less CGI, the better.) Buckle up, ’cause we’re not wasting any time shifting into high gear.

20. Quantum of Solace (2008)

There have been some memorable car chases in the James Bond franchise: the first sequence featuring the iconic Aston Martin DB5 in Goldfinger, the corkscrew jump in The Man With the Golden Gun, the Lotus Esprit submarine in The Spy Who Loved Me. But I’m going with a somewhat controversial pick here: Quantum of Solace. There are many issues with Quantum of Solace—namely, it was one of the most high-profile blockbusters affected by the 2007-08 writers strike—but its opening scene isn’t one of them. Picking up right where Casino Royale left off, we find Bond (Daniel Craig) evading henchmen through the narrow roads around Italy’s Lake Garda. The frenetic, furious chase mirrors Bond’s sense of anguish after losing Vesper Lynd (Eva Green), the woman he opened his heart to, and his relentless quest for answers. It’s a thrilling tone-setter for Quantum of Solace and one that doesn’t overstay its welcome, capped off by Bond sending his final pursuers flying off a cliff:
If we’re being honest, though, it feels like James Bond has yet to create a franchise-defining car chase. Perhaps that’s a mission the newest 007, whoever it ends up being, can undertake.

19. Mission: Impossible—Rogue Nation (2015)

The Mission: Impossible franchise is no stranger to electrifying chase scenes, the best of which find Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt working up his heart rate. When it comes to action behind the wheel, though, Fallout tends to dominate the discussion—even on this very website. But I think the vehicular chase in Rogue Nation is being slept on. What we have is effectively two sequences for the price of one: The first finds Hunt pursuing Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson) by car through the narrow streets of Casablanca alongside some nefarious henchmen; the second sees him continue the chase outside the city on motorbike. (Adding to the chaos: Hunt had only just been resuscitated, and he’s clearly not all there.) In terms of death-defying stunts for the audience’s entertainment, a helmetless Cruise taking corners like a MotoGP racer is child’s play compared to his other exploits, but the actor’s authentic reaction to scraping his knee on the road underlines that there’s no one else in Hollywood doing it like him:
We’ll be sure to update this ranking if and when Cruise does something even more dangerous down the road, pun unintended.

18. Vanishing Point (1971)

A movie that counts the likes of Steven Spielberg and Quentin Tarantino among its biggest fans, Vanishing Point is the first of a few entries on this ranking that’s essentially one extended car chase. The film stars Barry Newman as Kowalski, a man tasked with delivering a Dodge Challenger T 440 Magnum from Colorado to California while eluding police across four states. One of Kowalski’s most memorable run-ins comes when a guy driving a Jaguar E-Type convertible challenges him to an impromptu race. Incredibly, we’re expected to believe the man in the Jag comes out of this crash in one piece:
Vanishing Point might not boast the impressive production values of other movies on this list, but considering Tarantino would go on to feature a white Challenger in Death Proof, its influence in the car cinema canon is undeniable.

17. Fast Five (2011)

Let’s face it, Fast & Furious has seen better days. Some believe the franchise’s dip in quality coincided with the death of Paul Walker; others are dismayed by the pivot from street racing to absurd feats of superherodom—emphasis on the Dom. Perhaps it’s a bit of both, but the very best movie in the series, Fast Five, manages to strike the perfect balance: It’s a relatively grounded heist thriller that nevertheless takes the franchise to ridiculous new heights. After Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) and his crew steal $100 million from a Brazilian kingpin, they drag the entire bank vault holding the money through the streets of Rio de Janeiro, all while being pursued by authorities. It’s a delightfully destructive sequence that does untold damage to Rio’s infrastructure and features some of the most bone-crunching crashes committed to film:
If the Fast franchise is going to break out of its recent slump, it would do well to remember that there’s nothing better than letting its heroes live their lives a quarter mile at a time—no detours to outer space required.

16. The Blues Brothers (1980)

A good car chase isn’t reserved just for action flicks: Comedies can get in on the act, too. In The Blues Brothers, starring the recurring Saturday Night Live characters played by John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, the beloved bandmates must prevent the foreclosure of the orphanage where they were raised by scrounging together $5,000. Naturally, that’s easier said than done: Along the way, the Blues Brothers draw the attention of neo-Nazis, a country-and-western band, and local police. While The Blues Brothers has amusing gags and musical numbers, its chase sequences with the Brothers behind the wheel of a 1974 Dodge Monaco are what really steal the show—and none are better than a climactic pursuit across Chicago. More than 60 old police cars were used in the film, some of which are wrecked in a comically over-the-top pileup:
The sheer scale of The Blues Brothers’ final set piece is commendable in and of itself—as is the movie’s commitment to treating real-life cars like a bunch of Hot Wheels.

15. Baby Driver (2017)

For good and for ill, Edgar Wright’s movies exude an abundance of style, and Baby Driver is no exception. Baby Driver is centered on a clever gimmick: The action works in tandem with its soundtrack because the film’s protagonist, Baby (Ansel Elgort), suffers from tinnitus and constantly plays music to drown out the ringing. When everything’s clicking into place, Baby Driver feels like a supersized series of music videos, and nothing hits quite like its opening sequence. Baby acts as the getaway driver for a bank robbery while listening to the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “Bellbottoms.” The ensuing chase works around rhythms of the song, as if Baby’s Subaru WRX were the star of its own dance number. Take nothing away from the actual driving, either, which puts the rally car to good use:
Baby Driver’s gimmick stretches a little thin by the end, but it’s hard to deny the crowd-pleasing power of Wright’s film when it’s firing on all cylinders.

14. The Raid 2 (2014)

With a trio of kickass Indonesian martial arts films under his belt, Gareth Evans has established himself as one of the most exciting action directors on the planet—someone who seems most in his element staging positively brutal hand-to-hand combat. In The Raid 2, however, Evans also brought his signature brand of carnage to the road. While there’s some cleverly executed close-quarters fighting within the confines of an SUV, courtesy of Iko Uwais’s hard-hitting protagonist, what really cements this sequence’s greatness are the moments when Evans turns the cars into an extension of the characters’ fists:
This belongs in an entirely new category of combat: car fights. There are so many action scenes in The Raid 2 worth writing home about—the kitchen showdown is an all-timer—but the fact that Evans casually tossed in an unforgettable car chase shows why he’s one of one.

13. The Driver (1978)

I’ll say this for Walter Hill’s The Driver: It sure lives up to its title. In this stripped-down thriller—one where none of the characters have a name—we follow the Driver (Ryan O’Neal), a getaway driver who has become a thorn in the side of the LAPD. In the film’s best scene, we see its taciturn protagonist living up to his reputation. With the Driver behind the wheel of a 1974 Ford Galaxie, a cat-and-mouse game unfolds when a handful of police cars are hot on his tail. What I love about this sequence is the pared-down nature of it all: The Driver outwits the cops as much as he outraces them. (Though, ironically, that wasn’t entirely by design: As Hill later explained, an accident on the last night of shooting meant they had to cobble together what had already been filmed.) Frankly, you’d never know the difference from the finished article:
If the general vibes of The Driver seem familiar, that’s because it was a major inspiration for Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive, which just so happened to feature an unnamed protagonist (Ryan Gosling) evading police through the streets of Los Angeles.

12. The Bourne Supremacy (2004)

The shaky-cam style of the Bourne franchise isn’t for everyone—just ask John Woo—but credit where it’s due: These movies know how to deliver a good chase scene. (A friendly reminder that The Bourne Legacy is an underrated gem with an awesome motorbike sequence to boot.) But there’s one Bourne chase that stands above the rest: the Moscow getaway in The Bourne Supremacy. After being wounded by the Russian assassin Kirill (Karl Urban), Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) hijacks a taxi, with both the police and Kirill in hot pursuit. This isn’t the kind of sequence that lingers on any one shot; instead, what makes it work is the frenetic nature of the editing, which allows the viewer to feel like they’re in Bourne’s fight-or-flight headspace:
If I’m being honest, I’m usually one of those people who doesn’t like the Bourne movies’ shaky-cam style, but when it’s executed with such craftsmanship, you can’t help but get caught up in its adrenaline-pumping power.

11. The Seven-Ups (1973)

Philip D’Antoni was the producer of two movies featuring Hall of Fame car chases, Bullitt and The French Connection, the latter of which won him an Oscar for Best Picture. And with his lone directorial feature, The Seven-Ups, D’Antoni sought to craft an iconic sequence of his own. The film stars Roy Scheider as NYPD detective Buddy Mannuci (elite Italian American name; I can practically smell the gabagool), who commands a unit handling major felony cases that lead to seven-plus-year prison sentences; that’s why they’re known as the Seven-Ups. Midway through the movie, when one of the team members is killed by two shooters who flee the scene, Buddy chases after them. The 10-minute sequence, which starts in the Upper West Side before moving out of the city, is thrillingly immersive, alternating between close-ups of the characters and wider shots of all the damage they’ve caused. But the chase’s defining moment comes right at the end, when Buddy narrowly avoids a grisly death:
The sequence isn’t quite at the level of Bullitt or The French Connection—very few are—but D’Antoni still manages to leave an unmistakable imprint on the car chase canon.

10. Death Proof (2007)

If you ask Quentin Tarantino, Death Proof, his knowingly trashy tribute to exploitation cinema, is the worst movie he’s ever made. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot to admire about the film, which honors the unsung heroes of Hollywood: stunt performers. The first half of Death Proof follows three female friends who cross paths with Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a misogynistic serial killer who takes them out in his “death-proof” Chevy Nova. Fourteen months later, a group that includes stuntwoman Zoë Bell, playing herself, also lands on Mike’s radar. As Bell and her friends test out a ’70s Challenger, she performs a “ship’s mast” stunt, clinging onto the hood of the car with fastening belts. Unfortunately, when Mike pursues the women, it puts Bell in a precarious situation. Most of the entries on this list celebrate some next-level driving skills, but Death Proof’s inclusion is all about Bell pulling off one of the wildest stunts you’ll ever see. She’s quite literally hanging on for dear life:
If the Academy handed out Oscars to stunt performers—and let’s hope it does happen one day—Bell would’ve won in a landslide.

9. To Live and Die in L.A. (1985)

William Friedkin was already responsible for an all-time great car chase in The French Connection (more on that later), but the filmmaker made a commendable bid to outdo himself with To Live and Die in L.A. In this neo-noir thriller, Secret Service agent Richard Chance (William L. Petersen) is hell-bent on arresting an expert counterfeiter, Rick Masters (Willem Dafoe), who kills Chance’s partner days before his retirement. To capture Masters, Chance and his new partner, John Vukovich (John Pankow), attempt to steal $50,000 from a jewelry buyer for an undercover operation. The sting goes bad when the buyer, who is later revealed to be an undercover FBI agent, is killed and a group of gunmen goes after Chance and Vukovich. It’s a clever inversion of the usual car chase formula—this time, it’s the lawmen running away from the criminals. The outside-the-box thinking extends to the film’s most astonishing stretch, in which Chance evades the gunmen by driving into oncoming traffic:
The fact that Friedkin shot the chase at the end of filming—in case anything disastrous happened to the actors—underscores just how risky the endeavor was. The pulse-pounding results speak for themselves.

8. The Matrix Reloaded (2003)

The Matrix sequels have never been held in high esteem, but I’m ready to live my truth: The Matrix Reloaded fucking rules. (If anyone’s got a problem with this take, file your complaints with the Architect.) What’s more, the film happens to boast the finest action set piece of the franchise: the highway chase. After Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne) and Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) free the Keymaker (Randall Duk Kim), a program capable of creating shortcuts within the Matrix, they’re pursued by the Twins (Neil and Adrian Rayment). Morpheus once warned that going on the freeway was “suicide,” and it doesn’t take long to see why: The chase draws the attention of several Agents, who repeatedly take over the bodies of other drivers on the road. The scene is the best of both worlds: There’s some incredible stuntwork on display, including when Moss weaves around on a Ducati, and CGI augments some feats of superhuman strength. But the most jaw-dropping aspect of the sequence is how it came together, as the production spent $2.5 million to construct its own highway (!) on California’s Alameda Island. If that weren’t unique enough, I’m pretty sure Reloaded is also the only movie in existence in which a katana takes out an SUV:
The Matrix remains the Wachowskis’ masterpiece, but don’t get it twisted: The filmmakers were still cooking with gas in the sequel.

7. Gone in 60 Seconds (1974)

Size isn’t everything, but for H. B. Halicki, who produced, wrote, directed, and starred in Gone in 60 Seconds, it’s certainly part of the package. The indie action flick follows Maindrian Pace (Halicki), a Los Angeles insurance investigator who has a lucrative side hustle jacking high-end cars. The plot kicks into motion when a South American drug lord enlists Pace to nab 48 cars within five days in exchange for $400,000. Of course, Gone in 60 Seconds is best known for what happens after Pace is caught stealing a 1973 Ford Mustang Mach 1, when he leads police on a chase that lasts a whopping 40 minutes. (More than 90 cars were destroyed in the process.) Halicki, for his part, did all the driving himself, including a spectacular jump off a makeshift ramp of crashed cars:
While Halicki wound up making a few more indies after Gone in 60 Seconds, he died in an accident on the set of its sequel. His legacy as a do-it-all daredevil, however, lives on.

6. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Long before James Cameron immersed himself in the world of Pandora, he was a pioneer of state-of-the-art visual effects. Case in point: Terminator 2: Judgment Day is credited for having the first CGI character in a blockbuster, the T-1000 (Robert Patrick), a killing machine composed of a futuristic liquid metal. But Cameron also understood that the CGI of that era shouldn’t be the main attraction: It worked best as a complement to the practical effects, as seen in Judgment Day’s epic viaduct chase. When the T-1000 tracks down a young John Connor (Edward Furlong) in a shopping mall, he’s saved at the last minute by the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger), giving John a chance to escape on his dirt bike. As the T-1000 gives chase, the David and Goliath vibes between man and machine are further epitomized by the T-1000’s commandeering of a truck. The sequence already has a terrifying sense of urgency, but it hits another level when the T-1000 crashes through the viaduct like the Kool-Aid Man:
Big Jim is still revolutionizing what can be achieved with visual effects in the Avatar franchise, and while I cherish those movies, nothing beats his old-school showmanship.

5. Duel (1971)

The feature-length debut of Steven Spielberg—perhaps you’ve heard of him—the TV movie Duel is essentially one extended chase sequence between salesman David Mann (Dennis Weaver) and a sinister trucker determined to drive him off the road. I’ve attached a clip from the ending of the film, but that doesn’t do Duel justice. What cements this movie’s greatness is how it sustains an unbearable level of tension across its 90-minute running time—with a budget under $500,000, no less. Spielberg’s masterstroke is never once showing us the other driver, anthropomorphizing the truck itself as a monster. (You can see a lot of similarities with how he would build suspense in Jaws.) When Mann finally gets the upper hand, tricking his adversary into driving off a cliff, it feels like you can breathe again:
Spielberg would move on to bigger and better things after Duel, but considering how much the director accomplished with so little, you can’t help but wonder what else he could conjure up with limited resources.

4. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Like Duel, Fury Road is basically one long car chase—the difference is Miller got to work with a blockbuster budget, and made every cent of it count. It’s hard to pick a single standout sequence in Fury Road, but if I had to choose, I’d go with the first attack on the War Rig after Furiosa (Charlize Theron) flees with the wives of Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne). Here’s why: Think back to when you saw Fury Road for the first time, before you fully grasped the vehicular carnage that was in store. And then stuff like this kept happening:
To quote Steven Soderbergh’s thoughts on Fury Road: “I don’t understand how they’re not still shooting that film and I don’t understand how hundreds of people aren’t dead.” Whether or not Miller manages to one-up the action in Furiosa, the director is already in the pantheon.

3. The French Connection (1971)

We return to the Friedkin-verse for what may be his best film, The French Connection, the crime thriller based on Robin Moore’s 1969 nonfiction book of the same name. The story concerns two NYPD detectives, Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman) and Buddy “Cloudy” Russo (Roy Scheider), and their tireless pursuit of a French heroin smuggler. But while there’s plenty to admire about how The French Connection illustrates the thin line between police and criminals, its greatest claim to fame is its car chase. After Popeye narrowly survives a sniper attack, he goes after the shooter, who escapes on an elevated train. The ensuing sequence is true daredevil filmmaking that Friedkin shot without permits, leading to real crashes with New Yorkers that made the final cut. But Friedkin’s finest touch was mounting a camera to the front of the car, making the audience feel like they’re part of the action:
My Ringer colleague Justin Sayles believes The French Connection’s chase should’ve landed at no. 1, and I’m sure many folks will agree with him. Being the only film on this list to win Best Picture, however, is a solid consolation prize.

2. Bullitt (1968)

When it comes to modern car chases, all roads lead back to Bullitt. A Dad Cinema classic, the film stars Steve McQueen as Frank Bullitt, a San Francisco detective who pursues a group of mobsters after a key witness is killed in protective custody. In his search for answers, Bullitt realizes he’s being tailed by a couple of hitmen, and then turns the tables on them. From there, the chase is on. Aside from McQueen doing most of his own stunts behind the wheel of a Ford Mustang GT 390 Fastback, what’s so impressive about the sequence is how timeless it is. Even the little imperfections, like hubcaps repeatedly coming off the wheels, work to the film’s advantage, stressing just how much these drivers are living on a razor’s edge. It’s been more than 50 years since Bullitt revolutionized the car chase, and yet few movies since have felt like they’re pushing the envelope to such an exhilarating degree:
That the car driven by McQueen was recently sold at auction for $3.74 million, a then-record price for a Mustang, underlines Bullitt’s enduring legacy.

1. Ronin (1998)

“If I’m going to do a car chase,” filmmaker John Frankenheimer said in an interview with the American Society of Cinematographers, “I’m going to do a car chase that’s going to make somebody think about whether or not they want to do another one!” Boy, did he ever. In Frankenheimer’s late-career masterpiece, Ronin, the director actually incorporated several chases, but it’s the climactic sequence that stands alone as the greatest ever filmed. The movie concerns an international group of mercenaries who are hired to steal a mysterious briefcase; a series of double-crosses and double-bluffs ensue. But for the final chase, all you need to know is that Sam (Robert De Niro), a mercenary with ties to the CIA, is in pursuit of Deirdre (Natascha McElhone), an IRA operative in possession of the case. Winding through the streets and tunnels of Paris, what’s most striking is just how fluid it all feels. You’re completely engrossed in the chase’s forward momentum, captured from every conceivable angle; a symphony of controlled chaos. The driving styles even reflect the characters: Deirdre is reckless and impulsive, while Sam remains calm and controlled.
There are many worthy car chases in this ranking, but in my view, Ronin takes pole position. And while I can’t imagine a movie ever topping what Frankenheimer achieved, I’d love nothing more than to be proved wrong.

I bartered some spring cleaning stuff some years back for an 80V Kobalt Lawn Mower that malfunctioned after about a year. It was a bad safety switch and it runs like a champ now. I picked up a 630Cfm Blower with a "Bad" 3.0ahOEM battery as new for $100 but was able to jump the battery BMS and it is like new. I recently traded an old laptop for an 80v chainsaw and battery. So as it goes, I have about $180.00 into everything (4 batteries, Mower, Chainsaw, and Blower (yes I spent a lot of time running around making deals with dangerous people and getting into some shady stuff in counties that have all the meth billboards /s?).
The moral of the story is that I (and many others) simply would not have paid retail for these as it would have surely exceeded $1200+. That being said, they are amazing tools. The chainsaw has easily replaced a 16" poulan I have had for years. The blower works great (Always Turbo) and matches about any modern 120V model. I have an older plugin blower with a metal turbine that definitely outperforms the Kobalt but the mobility makes the Kobalt far more effective and accessible.
As for the lawnmower, It's a great mower for 1/4 acre. I have about 4x that amount so I still use the gas mower for heavy stuff and the Kobalt for all light duty.
Anyway, these are my must haves only because I have a set of new Stihl Weeder and Edger a friend gave me.
I wonder what other 80v compatible tools can replace the gas/AC counterpart.

I'll try to keep this relatively short but this has been an ongoing saga for nearly a year now. I have an above-ground 15' x 30' x 54" (~12,000 gallon) pool which was put in in 2018. I just replaced the sand in the sand filter this year (about two weeks ago). In 2021 I had a problem with the original pump (Hayward Matrix) and replaced it with a Hayward Power Flo LX. They're both 1.5 HP pumps and the pressure coming out of the return is high.
Starting last year I began to have a ton of problems keeping the pool balanced and clear. The CYA had crept up too high and I had to do multiple partial water exchanges to get it down. Then the algae blooms came (I'm in the middle of Texas and the sun and heat was particularly brutal last year making algae problems and balancing even harder).
I tried for MONTHS last year to get the pool clear, multiple shock attempts of all different types of shock, algicides, even hired a pool guy who basically gave up after six weeks and told me "you should just tarp the whole thing until all the algae is dead" what??
I closed the pool early for fall/winter and resolved to just start over in the spring. About a month ago I drained the pool down to about 2 feet and had 8000 gallons of fresh water trucked in. The water that was left in the pool was quite dirty, so I started right away with SLAM:

• I lowered PH to 7.2
• Checked CYA and it was just at the minimum, right at 30
• Used Pool Math app and started SLAM process, first with Hypochlorite (Leslie's Powder Plus 73), then switched to liquid chlorine (13%) after about a week.
• I am running the pump 24/7 and brushing + skimming regularly, clearing out the skimmer basket, occasional backwash, etc.

I have a good test kit from Trouble Free Pool and do an FC test every morning and night. Every morning the chlorine has dropped to 5ppm or lower and I add more shock... by evening the FC has dropped again and I add up to SLAM level again... but I've been doing this for ten days now and the water is not clearing up. In fact I went out this morning and the water is starting to tinge GREEN again!!!
My wife has basically made me promise that if I can't get this solved within the next 30 days, the pool has to go. Could there be a problem with my filter that would be causing it to not actually filter even though it appears to be running normally? I feel like this pool is cursed. Is the solution just MORE chlorine?
Any help would be much appreciated. It will be an epic PITA to get rid of this pool as there is decking built all around it, but I don't want an unusable green pond in my backyard either.

TW: childhood neglect and verbal abuse - me remembering so many things after last night's session. I just need to tell someone! I repressed this childhood since I moved out of my parents. It's like I died that day and moved on like a robot.
It is as though the illusion I've kept up for the past 24 years of me being always 'happy' and living a happy childhood just shattered entirely.
I have this diary I wrote in a lot in 2014, which is from exactly 10 years ago when I was 14. I cherished it a lot and sometimes would look into it to remember the old days. However, just last week I looked into it again after several months of being more focussed on my mental health (and especially on my childhood & parents.). This time, I saw something entirely different in this cute colorful happy diary.
All I see now, is how I was suffering. Suffering alone and always walking on eggshells. Nothing was ever good enough. Almost every page I refer to 'future me', the one who will understand me. I didn't get that from my parents. Old me, who will listen to how I am feeling and give me the comfort and soothing I so desperately needed.
I write about how I was completely exhausted from highschool, and then constantly bash myself with extremly self critical words. I have pictures of me in there with apologies for being ugly, and stories of 'how I didn't work hard enough'. Several pages describe forms of catastrophizing over the smallest mundane things.
In some pages, I casually mention a family member I dearly loved dying but then downplay it with something else. It's ups and downs by the sentence "It was my birthday yesterday, I had a great time! I am exhausted and drained and school is horrible. I did get a nice gift. I hope grandma stays alive" etc.
All this time I was happily keeping up this story of how happy I was. How I had such loving parents who where always there for me. They would shower me with gifts they could barely afford.
In my house, there were no rules. There was no bedtime. There was no structure - no breakfast together or chores I had to do. Everyone was jealous of me, because I was so free, but child and teenage me were constantly longing for someone to care.
I would be gone from home as much as I could. The atmosphere was so hectic. One day you'd come home to a happy loving mom who has all the patience and curiousity to hear about my day and my struggles. The other I would walk in and get scolded about how I was nothing. One day she was willing to help me with my feelings and emotions, but in other days she'd scold me for having them! I should be strong because according to mom, she's cyinic, and the world is 'angry and cruel. The world is unfair.' Now get up and don't wallow in your sadness and self-pity.
It's like they would give a gift sometimes, just to then call me ungrateful every day after. According to them I was unthankful, selfish, and my mom said I'd act as if the world revolved only around me. If I'd say "huh, I never said that?! I would never say such a thing?" she said "that is just what you think you are doing. But in reality, you're ruining it for everyone".
Eitherway, after going through the entire diary without skipping a page, I remembered I once made a video of my mom attacking me. I looked it up, and for the first time in 8 years I had the mental energy to watch it. My jaw dropped to the floor. I never even saw someone act so horrible before but it's me going through it....
t's like my world shattered. My mom was treating me absollutely horribly in this video. I don't even remember! You can see her face, and she is so scary! Here eyes look like pure hurt, as if she was throwing her own traumatic upbringing onto me and blaming me for it. She looks at me as if she's completely disgusted by me! The entire rant of hers is a complete mind trip where she downplays everything I say and spins it around as if I was just a burden who tried to make life for my parents worse.
I would never help with chores. Because, if I asked if she needed help, she didn't. I didn't have to do anything in the house but also did not know how to do anything. Then on other days she'd get angry I wasn't doing enough in the house and mention how our life should be about "giving and taking" and I should participate in that.
Now having read all of this, and watching some more video's of these attacks, I remember many things. How my parents would lock me up in the dark cold hallway because I had a "tantrum". They say it 'wasn't that long' but overstimulated and panicked todler me would bawl her eyes out. I felt so abandoned. In my life, alltogether, my strongest feeling is guilt. I feel guilty for everything. I feel shame. I feel ugly when I cry.
I only managed to teach myself how to release emotions in january this year. I never knew. I couldn't cry since years. When I finally managed this year, I'd notice I'd feel so ugly. My cries sound like my mom crying. She'd cry in our house regularly at some point. Really messy, really loud.
Because of constantly being told I wasn't doing enough, or that I didn't care, I wanted to please. I would muster up the courage and shun myself for how difficult and bad it felt to do so. I would ask her "mom, are you okay? Do you need a hug?"
She'd turn around on her desk chair and YELL. Loud. Screaming at me to get out of her face. Just get out of our life. This happened several times. I'd just walk away from the house. I felt so alone and unwanted. I never could do it right. My dad would just avoid my gaze.
Some days I would be begging my mom for a hug. Just for some attention. But she was so overstimulated that she couldn't even give me a touch. I would feel so lost and alone and just go outside and distract myself with imaginary games. I remember because of this, the moments where I would overheat my parents show off to parents of friends of mine how "I was such an easy kid" and how I could entertain myself and be happy for hours. The other parents would be jealous. I wouldn't know why this would make me cry
My life first going to school was just sheer terror. I felt so abandoned. Every time mom dropped me off I'd kling around her leg crying and screaming. Then afterwards, I wouldn't want to go home either. I remember how later in my childhood I still felt guilty for this behavior, because mom must have been so ashamed. I'd hang around teachers and daycare adults all the time. I wanted to hug everyone, because that was what I so desperately wanted.
My dad could never give hugs. Sometimes he'd allow it, but it would feel so distant. If my mom was starting to freak out about me, he'd sometimes intervere and call me to 'it's done now!' and 'go to bed'! No matter the time. I'd lay in my bed, just trying to curl up and feel somewhat comfortable.
In primary school, I would constantly visit friends. It continued in highschool too. I had two music classes and sports, so for four days a week I was settled after school - not having to go home immediately. Home didn't feel safe. It wasn't a constant. Some days there would be dinner at a nicely put dinner table and we'd eat together, some days I'd just eat some bread myself.
Some days mom would just be lying in bed. I found a video, that's why I remember. She would'nt get out until the beginning of the evening. This was in the time she would normally make me some lunch, or ya-know, take care of me. Suddenly I'd have to do everything alone.
I was constantly entertaining myself with imaginary friends at home. I'd play outside until I was 17 or so, alone. My cat was pure innocence and love but when I told my parents he was 'coughing' they didn't want to believe me. They only took him to the vet when it was too late and never apologized or were able to own up for this.
When I was 14 I wrote in my diary I was looking forwards to visit grandma. She's my mom's mom, and I would sometimes spend up to a week there just to be able to relax and be loved unconditionally. My mom would terroize me with her stress and anger and accusations to a point I couldn't focus on school. I wrote how she'd come into my room calling me names and how I couldn't read my homework papers through the tears.
My dad was never really there. He'd choose himself to be out of the house in the morning before mom and I'd be out and then when he was back he wouldn't make it further into the house than his TV chair. My parents would watch TV for hours when I was a kid. If I asked "what are you watching" they'd both go "Shhhh!". If I'd push it futher, the'd send me upstairs.
I feel like I spend so much time just hiding from my parents. Wheter it was upstairs in my bedroom all day, and night, or if it was outside. I now also remember just biking for hours crying hoping someone would stop and console me. I'd make the wrong friends and smoke weed at 16 just to stop the thoughts.
I would visit friends just because their house was calm and safe. I'd get a nice dinner there, and it would be a whole new experience. My parents would always be easily agitated. I am hyper senstive, hyper aware. I get uncomfortable just seeing them being uncomfortable. I remember I could already feel the energy from streets away. Sometimes I knew it would be wrong and I'd just bike somewhere else and go home later.
In one diary entry, I describe how my parents told me to write a letter to my dad's mom for her birthday. I finish the letter, and only then I allowed myself to take a shower and take care of myself. I would rot in bed, and rot in my dirty hair for days, just like mom. On other days she'd be so happy, she'd be re-decorating the entire house, invite me to go rollerskating.
But I also remember how many times my parents threatened to throw me out of the car. I remember how my 'reaction' to whatever they 'gave me' would never suffice. Then I would be the bad guy, for not being thankful.
My parents, they did everything for me. They paid for everythingg. Ya-da Ya-da, but I never had a proper hug from my dad. I don't know why he's even with my mom. I think he's a fun dude, but he's in mental pain. My mom told me way too young how her trauma's affected her. My dad's childhood would always be an excuse that I had to empathize with when I asked mom as a kid "if dad really loved me".
Other memories involve me running upstairs and then one parent following me. I don't remember getting hurt physically, but I remember all my life the pain I can see in their eyes.
If I look at pictures from my teenage years now, I can finally see the depression in my eyes. It took me up until this year to finally understand that having a clean kitchen and bathroom is something you do because you think you are worthy of a clean space. I had to get out of a depressionhole again over the years many times. I now realize the constant self critisism should have been self love. So that I would feel worthy of taking a shower and brushing my teeth.
I now see how what I saw as 'good experiences' are mostly just my parents taking me somewhere to do some activity and it just fits the perfect family picture. I was their only child but we'd celebrate christmas with many, many presents for me. But once my grandparents didn't live anymore, the birthday parties and tradition celebrations weren't hosted anymore by my parents. I wonder for who they truly did it. I was a golden child, but later in life I was just a burden.
I moved out the first chance I got. They didn't stop me. I was barely 17. I got into partying and drug abuse. I would sleep for weeks in bed. Barely ate. Then I would drag myself out of it again and have missed my mom's birthday. I was the one ruining the relationship to them.
I realized last year my parents had not called me for over 7 months. That was the first time I cried since the last time I did as teen. It's always coming from me.
My depression, my axieties and the treatment my parents gave me were never seen. It was never validated until I could finally read my diary with new eyes and watch those videos. I never got professional help but I will look for this now. I am really longing for someone to tell me what I was going through wasn't normal.
I did not remember this until yesterday, BUT, I am so used to being called weak, sensitive, a cry-baby, a bitch, for telling my mom how her verbal abuse made me feel. I feel so weird, how I repressed all of this for so long and the past years I tried so hard to still visit them and give them hugs and they felt good and now it all just feels fake and weird again.
Well yeah, so this is about everything that's been on my mind today. I feel totally weird. It's a tuesday and I couldnd't even work today. I am lost.

Me and my dismissive avoidant ex broke up in June. He claimed it was for mental health reasons, I stayed and tried my best to support him. We had a conversation not long after where we both maintained we would maintain loyalty. A few weeks later someone tells me he’s on bumble, I could not believe it as he had never lied to me before. His bumble profile said he was ‘he was looking for a relationship’ it just didn’t make sense. But I left it, as he had told me at the time that his friends had created his profile not him. During summer he was diabolical, name calling, telling me he never loved me, just acting up in general. Things did cool down, and eventually we started seeing each other again. My birthday came around and I mentioned that I thought we would do something together, he got mad at me said I was ‘questioning him and calling him a liar’, so I waited.. and waited.. he never ended up doing anything for my birthday. We met afterwards and he reassured me again and again he would never use the dating app. Fast forward to 2 weeks before Christmas we met to eat, and while discussing a couple we knew dealing with cheating in their relationship, he assured me he would never do that to me. While I knew that we were not ‘official’ I believe there was an understanding based on loyalty. 2 weeks after he supposedly went on bumble matched with someone in Scotland (a whole different country), returned my birthday gift, and first week of February when we were meant to go out to eat he told me just hours before he had switched days with his ex partner in taking care of his child and therefore couldn’t make it. I believed him. I just found out he had actually travelled to Scotland met this 35 year old lady and they had sex - he’s 26. He claims there was not cheating. The whole thing is just diabolical. He had now come back after 4 months of no contact, claiming he was ‘just toxic’.
I told him, that all I expect from him is to cut contact with her so we can try working on us, he’s said he won’t as ‘she didn’t do anything to me’. It’s just cowardly, as he told me it was not worth losing me over but she’s out here posting pics of their date over and over again, so she probs is being led to believe this will become more. Overall the whole situation smells of selfishness, and heartlessness.

So I've (20M) been anxious and rightfully so because this was quite an usual heated moment between me and another gym bro, please tell me ¹what you think, ²where I could've been better at this interaction and ³what you think I should do if any of this happens again
What happened;
Earlier this afternoon at the gym I wanted to hit a (dips) machine (which I usually don't) and when I got to it I saw a man way over his 30's (prolly middle aged) using it and I indicated him asking (in sign) if he'd like to let me use it while he rests between sets and he replied with "just one set more" so fair, I waited (I hadn't seen the weights yet)
When he was done he just picked his bag and walked off so I tried pushing the weight to see if I'd be able to push this weight for reps which I quickly realized was not possible.
I intended to ask him to return the weights (that's how it's done at our gym the trainer specifically asked me the same at another instance plus it's written all across the gym)
So I called onto him and he couldn't hear me and the trainer indicated him to turn around, when he did I very politely pointed at the weights while saying "I don't need these"
He responded (as if) he didn't understand what I said so I repeated similarly "These are a lot for me"
Again his response was similar to that of "what are you saying" (though he didn't speak yet) so up until here I actually assumed he may have not understood what I was saying since I wasn't speaking English
Switching to English I asked if he spoke English (which he does later), to which he got annoyed and the trainer so to assist me said "he knows" (the native language I spoke earlier)
He finally reciprocated what I was saying and he refused to take the plates used by him and began asking me (in English) "can you not carry them?" to which I replied "I don't want to" in a louder tone and he shouted "Did I bother you?" x3 times
"If you can't carry them don't use them" he yelled (which is so beside the point , quite opposite tbh, meaning that was my whole point) then he walked off and when I put the weights down I said in the native language "are you training for me or what" then the trainer came in between us and made us get back to working out.
What was concerning to me;
I was done working out and went to wash up, 2 mins in I saw him enter the washroom and I intended to ignore him he used the tap next to me and said "So you need to be taught how to talk?" to which I replied "Don't teach me brav" and walked away and he began shouting "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TAUGHT DON'T BEHAVE LIKE THAT" and more stuff then trainer came in and asked me to just leave this, I was trying to explain how I didn't pick it up to begin with and there was a heated moment between the three of us there. I heard him say that I was disrespectful to him; when I asked him to specify he said it was when I said "I don't want to" earlier lmao isn't that what he said as well?

Wondering if any one else can relate to this. I recently just switched gyms due to having to move. At my old gym, I was really close with everyone and had grown extremely accustomed to seeing everyone as friends. Everyone had also happened to be around my age as well.
Anyways, just had my first class at my new gym yesterday where I knew no one. Drilling went great, coach was great, but then it came time for rolls. Idk if it was because I had some subconscious social anxiety or something but I rolled like shit. I felt myself hesitating on everything and not commiting to my usual game plan. I tried to shake it off after a few rounds, but by the end of class I felt like I wasn’t “myself” during rolls. I think it’s prob because I had grown so accustomed to having my bjj training atmosphere be super comfortable and familiar. Admittedly this gym did feel very cliquey so my mind was overly conscious about making a good first impression and not fumbling. Anyways, just wanted to see if anyone else has experienced this when switching gyms.

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.

We have recently had a big falling out with my husband’s parents. Context in my prior post here but TLDR; they repeatedly violated boundaries around several things but most importantly kept putting our child’s health at risk. They don’t see any issue with this behavior. Proceeded to say that I’m a nervous wreck (they’ve always subtly made comments demeaning my mental health but this is the most blatant they’ve been about their feelings.), my husband is too sensitive and that we’re overreacting among other things. Basically they can do no wrong, they raised three kids so they know better than we do what’s right for our child. The post outlines the most egregious offenses but there have been several other smaller issues since the time we started dating to now.
we have decided there will be no contact, no visits, no pictures, no FaceTimes until they’re willing to follow our rules and make serious amends for how they spoke to/about me and him. My husband plans to send them a letter outlining what they’ve done, how it’s impacted us, and what needs to change if they want to be in our lives etc. He expects this letter to magically make them see they’re wrong. I know it most likely won’t.
How do I support him through this? What did your partner do/what did you wish they did if you’ve gone through similar issues? Should I help him prepare for the fact that it may not change things with them or do I just let it play out?
I’m very hurt by them but I am severely hurting for my husband right now and grieving the fact that my child will never have the grandparents he deserves on that side of the family.

Me and my dismissive avoidant ex broke up in June. He claimed it was for mental health reasons, I stayed and tried my best to support him. We had a conversation not long after where we both maintained we would maintain loyalty. A few weeks later someone tells me he’s on bumble, I could not believe it as he had never lied to me before. His bumble profile said he was ‘he was looking for a relationship’ it just didn’t make sense. But I left it, as he had told me at the time that his friends had created his profile not him. During summer he was diabolical, name calling, telling me he never loved me, just acting up in general. Things did cool down, and eventually we started seeing each other again. My birthday came around and I mentioned that I thought we would do something together, he got mad at me said I was ‘questioning him and calling him a liar’, so I waited.. and waited.. he never ended up doing anything for my birthday. We met afterwards and he reassured me again and again he would never use the dating app. On what would’ve been our 1 year anniversary, he told me that he had told his co-worker that.. I was extremely confused, like you told your co-worker???? Fast forward to 2 weeks before Christmas we met to eat, and while discussing a couple we knew dealing with cheating in their relationship, he assured me he would never do that to me. While I knew that we were not ‘official’ I believe there was an understanding based on loyalty. 2 weeks after he supposedly went on bumble matched with someone in Scotland (a whole different country), returned my birthday gift, and first week of February when we were meant to go out to eat he told me just hours before he had switched days with his ex partner in taking care of his child and therefore couldn’t make it. I believed him. I just found out he had actually travelled to Scotland met this 35 year old lady and they had sex - he’s 26. He claims there was not cheating. The whole thing is just diabolical. He had now come back after 4 months of no contact, claiming he was ‘just toxic’.
I told him, that all I expect from him is to cut contact with her so we can try working on us, he’s said he won’t as ‘she didn’t do anything to me’. It’s just cowardly, as he told me it was not worth losing me over but she’s out here posting pics of their first date over and over again with captions ‘favourite picture of me’, so she probs is being led to believe this will become more. Overall the whole situation smells of selfishness, and heartlessness.

I have some decent understanding of 3D modeling, im no pro but i can make a meeean low poly simple hard surface model! haha. I was originally in Animschool purely for rigging before snapping out of it and asking why i was paying almost 2k per class..
I see CGma has a Character TD rigging track, roughly 6 classes with one elective majority being 10 weeks to 8 weeks long each. Inj total it was around 3-3.5k usd off the top of my head.
And then there is Gnomon, i gave it a loot and while it looks good im looking for something more so structured. Not necessary like weekly turn in this do this type things, thats totally fine. But more so class wise of first we learn this, then that translates into this
And then theres RiggingDojo, But from what i see RiggingDojo is just a single Rigging 1O1 10 weeks unless im missing something and there are actually more than just the rigging 1O1 course?
but CGMA is 6 courses of 10-8 weeks each. Downside i dont get maya student access from CGMA but i do from RiggingDojo
I am very torn.. i do like how riggingdojo seems to be but the fact its just a single 10 week rigging intro 1o1 makes me think i would have to just switch to cgma directly after 10 weeks...

So I've (20M) been anxious and rightfully so because this was quite an usual heated moment between me and another gym bro, please tell me ¹what you think, ²where I could've been better at this interaction and ³what you think I should do if any of this happens again
What happened;
Earlier this afternoon at the gym I wanted to hit a (dips) machine (which I usually don't) and when I got to it I saw a man way over his 30's (prolly middle aged) using it and I indicated him asking (in sign) if he'd like to let me use it while he rests between sets and he replied with "just one set more" so fair, I waited (I hadn't seen the weights yet)
When he was done he just picked his bag and walked off so I tried pushing the weight to see if I'd be able to push this weight for reps which I quickly realized was not possible.
I intended to ask him to return the weights (that's how it's done at our gym the trainer specifically asked me the same at another instance plus it's written all across the gym)
So I called onto him and he couldn't hear me and the trainer indicated him to turn around, when he did I very politely pointed at the weights while saying "I don't need these"
He responded (as if) he didn't understand what I said so I repeated similarly "These are a lot for me"
Again his response was similar to that of "what are you saying" (though he didn't speak yet) so up until here I actually assumed he may have not understood what I was saying since I wasn't speaking English
Switching to English I asked if he spoke English (which he does later), to which he got annoyed and the trainer so to assist me said "he knows" (the native language I spoke earlier)
He finally reciprocated what I was saying and he refused to take the plates used by him and began asking me (in English) "can you not carry them?" to which I replied "I don't want to" in a louder tone and he shouted "Did I bother you?" x3 times
"If you can't carry them don't use them" he yelled (which is so beside the point , quite opposite tbh, meaning that was my whole point) then he walked off and when I put the weights down I said in the native language "are you training for me or what" then the trainer came in between us and made us get back to working out.
What was concerning to me;
I was done working out and went to wash up, 2 mins in I saw him enter the washroom and I intended to ignore him he used the tap next to me and said "So you need to be taught how to talk?" to which I replied "Don't teach me brav" and walked away and he began shouting "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TAUGHT DON'T BEHAVE LIKE THAT" and more stuff then trainer came in and asked me to just leave this, I was trying to explain how I didn't pick it up to begin with and there was a heated moment between the three of us there. I heard him say that I was disrespectful to him; when I asked him to specify he said it was when I said "I don't want to" earlier lmao isn't that what he said as well?

Hi there! As the title suggests, I’m Sylvie. My epistolary fantasy novel, A Letter to the Luminous Deep, was released in April by Orbit Books US and UK. It’s my debut and the first book in the duology we’re calling The Sunken Archive. (The second book will emerge from the depths, so to speak, in spring 2025.) I started this manuscript in 2018, sold it in 2022, and became a published author about a month ago. I’ve always loved reading epistolary novels, but creating one was an adventure like no other!
Made up of letters (naturally!), diary entries, and other assorted documents, A Letter to the Luminous Deep explores an unexpected courtship, a shocking disappearance, and the experiences of two unlikely archivists trying to put everything together. You might enjoy it if you like strange sea creatures, sibling stories, and queer-normative fantasy with a nineteenth-century-ish flavor.
I fear I’m much less interesting than my book, but in case you’re curious:

• I’m an ex-academic (aspiring PhD turned burned-out MA grad) with a passion for early twentieth-century fantasy illustration
• I have severe OCD (not the cleaning kind)…which I’m only mentioning because it’s a major theme in Luminous Deep
• I love crossword puzzles, crochet, and two-player board/card/tabletop games!

The best way to connect with me online is through my monthly newsletter, and I occasionally post updates on Instagram.
Anyway, I’ll do my best to answer your questions about my book, writing in general, and so forth. I currently spend my days catering to the whims of a capricious infant, so I’ll respond when naptime allows. I plan to come back for a brief visit around 2 PM Eastern Time (EDT) and then return in the evening from 6-8 PM EDT for more.
I look forward to our correspondence! :)

So…what happened at last night’s 5+ hour meeting? The top story is that the committee voted 6/0/1 (the Mayor abstained) to ask the city for $79.4 million to fund our schools in the 2024-25 fiscal year. This is $8.2 million more than what the district received this year, $5 million more than the number initially provided to the district from the city, and $2.7 more than the number that we received at the May 6 meeting (which included $2.3 million worth of cuts to close the gap between the city’s initial number and the full ask). You can see this laid out before and after public comment (2:21 and 5:09 marks, respectively).
What’s next? The superintendent will present this “ask” to the city council as part of their review of the Mayor’s proposed city budget. Eventually, the Mayor will present a final city budget to the council and once approved, the amount allotted to the schools will come back to the Superintendent as a number so she and her team can create the final budget proposal within that final number. School committee will then need to vote to approve that budget for the upcoming fiscal year (July 1, 2024 to June 30, 2025).
What else? Recap below. As always, observations and opinions are solely my own. Agenda is here, recording is here. This update also includes some clarification about the difference between level funding and level services, as these are terms getting thrown around a lot.

1. Consent agenda - Two amendments (to add a link to one of the subcommittee meeting minutes and strike from the record the street addresses of students who presented at the budget hearing) but otherwise this approval was routine.
2. Report from the Ad Hoc Handbook Review subcommittee - The proposed policy (in the agenda) was approved in its first reading. (New policies get read twice over the course of two meetings to give relevant stakeholders a chance to comment on them, unless the committee decides to waive the second reading. We declined to do so last night, so this is now the time for district and school administration to provide feedback on the policy.
3. Report from Behavioral Health & Special Education subcommittee - The recommendation to co-locate the Curtis-Tufts school in/with the new high school was approved. The administration and building committee will need to flesh this out for inclusion in the materials to be presented to the MSBA.
4. CCSR recognition - summary of the program by advisor Richard Trotter (400 students, 70 projects this year), two student presentations (a high school student who talked about the program generally as well as his Mystic River clean up projects, and two elementary school students talking about their Letter Carriers Safety program), and appreciation for the support of the Cummings Foundation.
5. Humanities awards recognition - Young Playwrights Project, Student Government Day, Boston Globe Scholastic Writing Awards, Geography Bee, Day on the Hill, Shakespearean Monologue Competition, Immigration Learning Center Teen Perspectives Contest, Ethics Bowl, Mock Trial, Model United Nations - congratulations to all students and their advisors
6. High school update & climate survey results presented by principals Marta Cabral and Chad Fallon - This included data comparisons between last year and this year (all trends were positive), discussion of community norms and core values, an update on the exploratory program (CTE/arts rotation and placements), and some highlights from several CTE programs/projects (scarpentry heds, health assisting, awards, licensing, apprenticeships/placements, the biodiesel collaborative project, and the robotics team), three year strategic priorities, an update on last year’s Welch Report (various pieces in progress, other recommendations planned to go into effect next school year), and a proposal for an alternative program proposal to provide a small group learning environment to meet individual needs (pilot was approved by the committee for next school year).
7. Proposal for CTE program expansion and additions - Chad Fallon provided an overview of the enrollment/wait list numbers, shared the results of a (still-in-progress) student survey about potential new offerings (criminal justice/protective services, dental assisting, IT/networking, plumbing/HVAC, veterinary science, and the various “other” responses to an open-ended prompt), and laid out plans for expanding those programs with the highest wait list numbers (auto technology, cosmetology, electrical, and health assisting programs). The committee passed a motion directing the administration to further flesh out the proposals for inclusion in the building committee’s materials for MSBA.
8. Budget presentation (6:38 p.m., so 1.5 hours into the meeting) - Interim Finance Director Gerry McCue provided some additional context for the budget proposal received on May 6. There were questions and comments from the school committee and student representatives (including a petition), and Member Ruseau made a motion to send a cuts-free budget to city council and the Mayor. Public comment from students, alums, teachers, and parents ensued, focusing on the coordinator of performing arts position, marching band and color guard, the Missituk teaching staff, and a smattering of other items including library, technology, administrative assistants, and kindergarten numbers. Also of note, the Superintendent answered some questions about the performing arts coordinator position around 8:30 (3.5 hours in).
9. Budget vote - The committee voted to approve the motion offered before public comment began. As noted previously, this is NOT the approved budget but rather, the amount we (school committee and the district) are asking the city for. The city council will review the request in the context of the full city budget, ask questions, offer opinions, but eventually the Mayor’s office will present a final budget for city council approval and, once approved, whatever the school number is will come back to the district, who will then prepare a final budget for school committee to vote on.
10. Motion to table the update from the MSBA building committee’s meeting last week - passed and, following condolences, the meeting was adjourned. Next regular meeting is June 3.

BONUS CONTENT! What is the difference between a level funding budget and a level services budget? Level funding provides schools with the same dollar amount as they received in the year before. Because things tend to cost more year to year (due to inflation, contractual raises, etc.) having the same amount of money usually means reducing services. Level services, on the other hand, keeps the services the same but due to aforementioned cost increases, requires a higher dollar amount than the previous year. What did the district/school committee ask for this year? We voted to ask not just for level services, but level services plus additional funding to meet additional district needs (the items presented at the May 6 meeting, nothing new since then).
Superintendent should be at tonight's city council meeting to make this ask and answer questions.

So I've (20M) been anxious and rightfully so because this was quite an usual heated moment between me and another gym bro, please tell me ¹what you think, ²where I could've been better at this interaction and ³what you think I should do if any of this happens again
What happened;
Earlier this afternoon at the gym I wanted to hit a (dips) machine (which I usually don't) and when I got to it I saw a man way over his 30's (prolly middle aged) using it and I indicated him asking (in sign) if he'd like to let me use it while he rests between sets and he replied with "just one set more" so fair, I waited (I hadn't seen the weights yet)
When he was done he just picked his bag and walked off so I tried pushing the weight to see if I'd be able to push this weight for reps which I quickly realized was not possible.
I intended to ask him to return the weights (that's how it's done at our gym the trainer specifically asked me the same at another instance plus it's written all across the gym)
So I called onto him and he couldn't hear me and the trainer indicated him to turn around, when he did I very politely pointed at the weights while saying "I don't need these"
He responded (as if) he didn't understand what I said so I repeated similarly "These are a lot for me"
Again his response was similar to that of "what are you saying" (though he didn't speak yet) so up until here I actually assumed he may have not understood what I was saying since I wasn't speaking English
Switching to English I asked if he spoke English (which he does later), to which he got annoyed and the trainer so to assist me said "he knows" (the native language I spoke earlier)
He finally reciprocated what I was saying and he refused to take the plates used by him and began asking me (in English) "can you not carry them?" to which I replied "I don't want to" in a louder tone and he shouted "Did I bother you?" x3 times
"If you can't carry them don't use them" he yelled (which is so beside the point , quite opposite tbh, meaning that was my whole point) then he walked off and when I put the weights down I said in the native language "are you training for me or what" then the trainer came in between us and made us get back to working out.
What was concerning to me;
I was done working out and went to wash up, 2 mins in I saw him enter the washroom and I intended to ignore him he used the tap next to me and said "So you need to be taught how to talk?" to which I replied "Don't teach me brav" and walked away and he began shouting "IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TAUGHT DON'T BEHAVE LIKE THAT" and more stuff then trainer came in and asked me to just leave this, I was trying to explain how I didn't pick it up to begin with and there was a heated moment between the three of us there. I heard him say that I was disrespectful to him; when I asked him to specify he said it was when I said "I don't want to" earlier lmao isn't that what he said as well?

My baby is 7 months old. She used to sleep in her crib without fuss but around 5 months she did a complete 360. As soon as I set her down she SCREAMS. We tried ferber for a week, check ins made her even more upset so we switched to full extinction and it’s been about 5 days. Some nights it works, some nights she screams for 2 hours before I go in and rescue. She just had her 2 bottom teeth come through so maybe that’s the case? But i’m about to give up and cosleep which is the last thing I wanted. We have her on a schedule during the day: 7am wake 9-10:15 12:30-1:15 (she won’t sleep for longer) 4-4:30 7pm bedtime Recently,she’s been all over the place with that too, she won’t settle and tries to climb me and fights me. Could she be over tired at night due to not enough day sleep? Should I regulate her day schedule before trying to sleep train again??

Hi,
I've been kicking around the idea of swapping my cheap Red Dragon gaming keyboard for something a little better. I just feel lost in the sauce. I've watched 1000 videos and my head is spinning.
I mainly play games so I think I want to go with a red switch keyboard. I don't mind some noise, just nothing too loud. Hot swappable is a must.
I like the frame on the keyboard to be low so you can see the switches but I don't want a low profile keyboard. I like the full keyboard without the num-pad (80%?) and a knob for volume control would be a plus but not a deal breaker.
I want RGB lighting,
A wireless keyboard is a plus and the Type C connection being on top is a must.
I'm not afraid to put the switches and key caps on myself, just can't be bothered with lubing everything so pre-lubed is helpful.
I was looking at the Keycron K8 Pro but don't like the high frame on the sides and the side Type C connection.
I'm a basic, clean type of guy, so I'm not looking for pastel colors and such.
My budget is $100-$150 USD.
Someone throw me a bone!

Last night, I hung out with my cousin in Albuquerque for hours, sharing the same room, playing games, looking at family photos and watching movies. Giving each other tours of our homes. The fact that I'm in New York made this utterly magical. I feel like we spent the night hanging out together, for the first time in years. I think this is the best use case for the AVP so far.
I want recommendations for other games and experiences that can be shared spatially.
Some thoughts on what we tried:

• Playing chess in game room was fun, and felt like a real shared experience, but a pain in the butt to set up multiplayer, and for some reason, they don't allow you to adjust the height of the table.
  
• Watching a movie while sitting in shared White Sands desert at night was spectacular, but frustrated that you couldn't control the size of the screen. For some reason, Apple locks it off, probably so you're both looking at the same thing. But it would be better if they just allowed you to adjust screen size for both people at once.
  
• being able to walk around in the same space, and have the feeling that we were really there moving around each other in each other's rooms was unbelievably cool. Giving each other high-fives was magic. But when we went to Hug, Apple fades the animation away when you get too close. This is unfortunate, there's no reason not to let people get physically close. Feels like they're afraid of NSFW telepresence. lol
  
• loved switching to "see my view" in order to give tours of each other's homes. It was a little dizzying moving around inside someone else's head, but also joyful. It was also hilarious to pick up my cousins FaceTime head and carry him around with me from room to room as we spoke.
  
• biggest frustration was that in photos, we couldn't share 3-D video or wrap around panorama. Those are two of the biggest selling points of the AVP, and I really can't wait until they figure out how to have multiple people sharing that experience at once.
  

What do other people think?