Last night was a crazy ensemble of mystery, magic, lively characters, pure luxury high class dreaming, attention to detail you normally only see in the fanciest of places! And it all started very normal. Let's dive into the dream space!
I am standing on a platform at train station Haarlem Centraal, Netherlands. Trains came and went. When I look around, I see people standing, waiting to catch the next train. Looking up, a digital sign said: “Groningen”. The next train went to Groningen, it actually sounds pretty nice, so I wanted to go there.
As I'm reaching into my left pocket, I notice I have my phone with me. I turned it on, and it was open on the Contacts app. On the top of the list, there was a peculiar person I never heard of before: Ben. I decided to give Ben a call.
A robotic voice made itself audible on the speaker. The robotic voice said: “Hi, I'm Ben! A dream AI. I can change any dream for you just the way you like it.”
“Anything?”, I ask. “We do anything for our customers. Your deepest desires, your wildest wishes and your greatest adventures come true. With Ben, you are 100% in control”.
Eager to test that theory, realizing as I was getting lucid — I'm not just anybody! I'm not going to stand here and wait for public transport like normal citizens do! I want a private train!
And so I speak my wishes in a clear English voice to Ben on my phone. No reply. Ben wasn't saying a word.
But something is changing… Looking up at the sign, it starts to flicker, as if someone is hacking into the sign in my dream, and quickly, the sign updated, saying: “Do not board — Private train”.
Not long after, I hear the train rolling into view — and my dragons — was it a marvel to behold, easily 100 cars long. The entire exterior is a silvery white train with red stripes on it. The red stripes are made from precisely cut ruby that is so thin and so flat that it surprises me it doesn't chip or crack. Surrounding the ruby stripes was chrome lining that holds everything together.
It looks shiny and beautiful, modern yet classical, drawing its inspiration from late 80s diners in the United States, along with Sci-fi elements from “Snowpiercer” and “Hunger Games — Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes”.
What really strikes me at this point is that, this all feels man-made. Engineered. My fantasy doesn't extend to these exquisite tastes without much research beforehand. And yet, that initial fear of the unknown made it all the more tantalizing to step in and roll the fast-lane of the dream world.
The car at the front opens its door, and to my surprise, nobody of the crowd steps in, automatically obeying what the sign says. In a split second, Ben had changed the normal aesthetic of a public train station into a capitalist class-divided private railroad for the ultra-rich to get their own private trains. In real life I'd hate this, but now I couldn't care less!
I got inside the train at the front, just before the conductors' car. The first cabin is relatively simple. It has a few chairs, tables that's it. Nothing too shabby. Each car has the same silvery white colour as the exterior, separated by red doors, mimicking the ruby stripes.
For the first time since my command, the AI spoke again: it said the train would be departing soon, but that I'm allowed to explore the train as I wish.
So, I go into the next car — and this one is a freaking tennis court! It was absolutely insane. There even is a small place for people to watch the game!
I walk into the next car — this seems to be a little restaurant, and quickly becoming my favourite car!
Stockpiles of candy and snacks and everything laid for people to grab for free!
There are Maltesers, Snickers, Bounty, and variations of it all!
Sitting on the floor (as the cabin where the candy was held was quite low), I start munching on everything. And I mean, everything!
I started eating the whole supply, there is even white Maltesers, and oh my god, they tasted so good.
Throughout this feast, I keep thinking of how grateful I am that it feels so real, the taste, the crunch, the feeling of getting full… My synapses are firing like crazy at this point to make this taste so real.
After the entire bar is emptied, and I feel almost like puking, I walk into the next car, this one is a literal petting zoo! It has a cow behind a small fence, and some chicken above in a cage.
It was an absolute monster of a train, and it just kept going, and going, and going! Everything stayed so consistent. I could always find my way back to the first cabin and I could even look at the screens inside the train and see how fast we are going.
I could look outside and see biomes consistent of that with the Netherlands… But something happened along the way. The more and more I drove towards Groningen. I started noticing that there are other people around, too.
First just a few, but later on, it starts to become more and more. And I began to ask myself: Where do these people come from?
This was intense and at this point I am a little annoyed because they weren't supposed to get on. We didn't stop in front of a station, so they couldn't have got on in the first place.
At some point, I even see my family. My mom and my sister… I ask my mom: “how did you get in?”
And she tells me that she doesn't know, but she is very happy to be here, there are so many things to do, and it is so special to spend time together with us on this train. I actually feel a little emphatic. Yeah, this could be special, let's ride it out!
I walked also towards other people, strangers… They say they are lucid dreamers and that they wanted the private train. But for some reason, the private train, was the same train for all of us.
I guess the AI made a mistake and thought that this train was the private train and just gave it to every lucid dreamer out there. I don't know, but the whole thing felt almost spiritual because all of these people, felt real. It added life to the scene. I see people hanging out in the restaurant car — just talking to each other about completely random subjects, relaxing. You know, just taking a cup of coffee or something. The train, the engineering, the people, everything was alive. It was so real.
It is even more alive than that. To each other and to me, these people were strangers at first. But riding this out together, starts to feel like days as time begins to drift. We began closing in on each other, some strangers became friends, and the friend groups started doing things together having activities. And the kids started patting the cow together.
Couple of more days in, people start setting up shops together, and they start making their own things. From just a means of luxury transportation it soon shifted into a meters long artist hub. And slowly, but surely, as the days pass, it becomes a city on rails. There are kids playing and everyone knows each other.
It is a crazy experience to see all this unfold, a life intermingled and yet so different all having their own characters and their own clothing, their own movements. Everything. Just… oh… it fell into place in this one thing.
And then I start to feel that I am going to wake up… Being so attached to this place. I don't want to just leave without saying goodbye. So, I walk to the front of the train, to the conductor. Strangely enough, no human is driving the train. In front of me there is a desk with nothing but a single microphone and a button. I activate the microphone to make an announcement.
A jingle starts playing, the same one as in Snowpiercer. I started having my speech, and I remember exactly what I said. It was that I was very happy to be here, and that sadly, it is my time to go, and I hoped that everyone remembers everything.
I let go of the mic and I walk back into the other cars, by now, things have so heavily evolved we have plants growing in every car, mostly food to eat.
But I didn't quite hear anything on the speakers when I made the announcement, so I ask random people if they heard the passenger announcement, but they all reply: “no we didn't hear anything”. So I guess that the microphone didn't work.
I then walk up to my mom. She is playing around with my nephews and nieces in a makeshift playground someone made. I tell her that I really loved everything about it and I hope that she remembers everything, but I am afraid that she won't remember anything. She asked if I will remember anything, and my answer was yes.
I explain to them that them forgetting, but me remembering is some kind of protection mechanism. To make sure that no strange, spiritual secrets about mysterious worlds reveal themselves. Yet that these people like my mum can still feel the positive vibes. Still, a really strange thing to say, but it was how I interpreted it at the time.
I walk back into the other coaches and say goodbye to a few other people that mattered the most to me here since there was no way I could say goodbye to everyone.
I woke up with full closure.
Once I got up, I realized I hit snooze on my alarm clock for maybe about 20 minutes. Which means that this whole thing happened in just 20 minutes. Possibly even less because I wouldn't sleep right away.
And that felt kind of crazy.

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.

So my manager is constantly harping on us in huddle that we are never ever to click that we didn't get an uninterrupted 30 minute meal break when we clock out. She says that is time fraud. Yesterday she told us if we get interrupted during our lunch break to just take another break later on. Ok sure thing, I'll do that with my 6 patients and constant running all night. There have been nights where I didn't sit down, but still I'm not allowed to say I didn't get that uninterrupted meal break. Smh, I'm so sick and tired of hearing about time fraud. Just ridiculous 🙄

I was working my THIRD ever night shift at this job. Mind you I do not know any owners or anyone higher than my GM. So some dude called about an hour into my shift and introduced himself as the owner while he did this he aslo texted my actual phone (Which is off I couldn’t reply) saying he was my actual manager but her phone had broke so she was using a different number and said the boss should be calling for a partial payment and to get into the safe. I didn’t think much of it and listened to what he had to say and he started off with saying there was an inspection coming within 30 minutes with a tracking number and their names. Sure enough they showed up and they were legit , they came in and did a BUNCH of cleaning. While they were cleaning he told me to call him from my actual phone , so I gave him a text now number. Through there he directed me to the office where the safe was and told me that he wanted me to get into the safe for when he arrives to pay for a partial payment for a shipment. He directed me to where to find the hammer and then wanted me to download WhatsApp to video call him. So I did and when he answered he looked legit , so I set the phone up and beat the shit out of and flipped a 300 pound safe from 1 to 6 o’clock in the fucking morning. NOT once thought to contact either manager through their actual number. I feel absolutely fucking stupid and played he also got a pic of my ID front and BACK along with my SSN. How do I atleast stop any fraud?

No I do not want a divorce, I am genuinely looking for advice to improve the relationship which also involves working on myself as well.
We just seem very different now that we actually live together. It just a lot of little thing from what a "man" (me) should be doing and what women "her" does not need to do. I do not believe or care of gender roles. Meaning I will cook and clean (which I do all of) but then someone else needs to take out trash and mow the lawn etc.
It starts in the morning. Every single day when she wakes up I am usually getting back in from a morning run so my mood is pretty great. I am often bombard with complaints; where my mug, where is my work bag, this weather suck (daily), work starts to early etc. The neighbors are noisy, you need to talk to them and more of that. Ive learned to put that aside but hate to start my day like that.
Going to works has become my peace and quiet ( i have a very crazy job with people but I rather be there sometimes).
I come home it is up to me to figure out dinner. Even though we work almost exactly the same hours...off by a 0-15 minutes depending on traffic.
Then the house is what i call literally a pigsty. Clothes everywhere, dishes in the sink "her" box from when moved 10 months ago still laying in the living room bc she needs to be the one to sort it according to her. I ask her nicely and say can "we" organize of this and I get a lot of how tired she is and how many hours she works, and only people who work part-time have the time to clean. (again we work the same full-time hours. I sometimes work off the clock after work too) So then I do the cleaning bc I cant take the mess. Then this goes back to the opening where she wakes up asking where her stuff is? ( i put clothes in closets and hampers, dishes in sink, bags in closets, shoes on a shoe rack, nothing is in a weird place).
I love my wife when we are not dealing with any life stressors and just relaxing but man I "feel" like i do everything and then get scrutinized for asking for any help or wanting any alone time. She tells me my expectations are too high. I am not exaggerating when her clothes is on everything: sofar: floor: chairs, Table, bathroom sink, toilet, multiple t rash bags in the bathroom et. Then when I do it and find ways to destress like going to the gym or out i.e I say I.e. next week I want to grab a bite with Joe and Bob, I get hit with you are married and shouldn't be leaving my wife a lone etc. I usually see my friends once every few months, for a dinner aka a bite. its just the guys and none of us drink.
I've tried saying I need help, or can we do this or that. She got in the habit of losing her stuff and using mine! like my deodorant etc and I asked her to put it back after use and the says I am being mean.
Already twice in big arguments I did ask for couples counseling but then later its dismissed.
I do like to do a lot and can enable. Also maybe I need to lay off a little too.
What next steps can I take?
tl;dr I feel like my wife only complains and does very little for "us" She east sleeps and goes to work. Romantically she is sweet and no issue there. What next steps can I take to approach this. She doesn't seem to hear my requests.

I just started my first WFH job with a company-provided MacBook that has an Admin account. Should I just assume my computer is being monitored? Some days I can get a bulk of my work done in the morning but then all afternoon I feel stressed if I let the computer screen go black (happens after a few minutes of inactivity). I work for a small company so I think they are more results-based then worried about time "on the clock" but I've heard of people at other companies that use WFH being fired for being away from their desk. Also, do I need to worry about the camera on the computer? Sometimes I put a sticky note over it but I'm not sure if I'm just being paranoid.

Day one Pixel 8 Pro owner here. Thought I’d share my experience, after over 8 months of ownership.
P8P Bay 256GB has been my daily driver since its release. I use it with 5G on, screen at full resolution, dynamic "smooth display" refresh rate is on, no bluetooth or tethering. Brightness left on auto.
TLDR :
Positives = camera quality, great design, OS (with some caveats), great screen (some caveats too)
Negatives = everything else
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Camera : beautiful imagery has always been the signature of the Pixel line, and this release is no exception. Every shot has this mesmerizing "Pixel touch", and the new ultrawide sensor is finally on par with the main unit. Videos are world class too, not quite on the level of the iPhone but we'll get there eventually.
Beautiful and unique design : It's sitting in a clear case, and in a sea of generic, boring slabs, it really stands out and doesn't go unnoticed. People often ask me what kind of phone it is, most are still not aware that Google is making smartphones and has been doing so for almost a decade now.
Very long software support : Seven years of updates is unrivaled in the Android scene, albeit with the following you’ll understand no one would willingly keep this phone seven years, so it’s not really a positive.
Sleek OS : Android in its purest, cleanest form. Customization galore. However as I'll mention later this pure android is NOT running smoothly, so I don't know if this count as a positive.
Gorgeous OLED panel : A truly beautiful display, high-resolution, good brightness..unfortunately plagued by mutiple lags and frame drops in the UI, I'll get back to that. Now onto the negatives.
First off, we must address the elephant in the room. Battery life. This phone charges PAINFULLY slow and discharges EXTREMELY fast. The opposite of what you want, right ?
The 10 minutes top ups to 50% is a concept Google seemingly never heard of. You want half a charge ? Better sit & wait half an hour. Full charge ? Go watch a movie. Now the discharge, and this is where the real drama clocks in. This phone EATS battery, ON IDLE.
On your average 9 to 5 workday (no camera, no games, just basic apps) you’ll head home with 15% tops. Phone dead by 7pm, then full charge will eat 90 minutes off your schedule, better not be in a hurry.
Now try to make a bit of power usage out of your power user phone : A bit of pictures for work at 10am, a short 4K video at 1pm, a bit of Fallout Shelter on the toilet at 2pm. You’re now looking at a 4pm shutdown.
But let’s go real on the camera, after all this is a camera flagship and it should be your reliable companion on a field day. Starting at 10 am : pictures, videos, a bit of editing, about 40 pictures taken and 3 videos of 10 minutes each. Shutdown at 1PM.
The CPU just eats battery on IDLE doing NOTHING. Throw anything heavy at it and you’ll head home with a dead phone, one that died long before your day was over. Simple as that.
Keep in mind that this is my experience with a 8-months-old device, and it will get worse and worse as the battery cell degrades over time. One can only wonder how many cell replacements this phone will need to get to the end of its famed software support.
Now we need to talk UI and animations because this isn’t good either. Stellar 120hz OLED panel and stock android should be a recipe for smoothness, but not here. Actually, some animations including the cool lock screen clock are barely 60hz. Switching apps isn’t 120hz either, nor is scrolling. A TON of lags and various frame drops, resulting in a framerate like 40-90hz, never stable, with the occasional but very rare peak at 120. This isn't TW3 gameplay on a potato but simply browing menus and scrolling instagram on a 2023, 1159€ flagship phone from Google.
This phone FEELS slow, and yet consume an enormous amount of power to do so. Infuriating.
One day I had to handle a coworker’s A54 to tweak a few things. I was SHOCKED by the smoothness, this was indeed true 120hz, which only happens a few times a day on Pixel 8 Pro. I realized what I was missing on by handling an Exynos mid-ranger. I understand the need for a dynamic framerate, not locked at 120hz all the time to save battery. But only reaching 120hz 5 times a day and still having a mediocre battery life wasn’t what I had in mind.
Finally, the optical, under-display fingerprint scanner. This, my friends, is an antique piece of hardware that belongs to a museum. Remember the Huawei Mate RS from 2018 ? One of the first phones with UDFS. The optical technology was so experimental and unreliable (still is, most OEMs moved on to ultrasonic) that Huawei also included another optical fingerprint sensor on the back of the device, just in case. Well, this ancient tech is what you have on the Pixel 8 Pro, and no optical sensor backup in sight.
Sometimes, it can take up to 2 full seconds of contact to….successfully fail to unlock. After it fails 3 times or so, it will ask you to enter your password, making one-hand unlocks a luck job. Sometimes it will successfully unlock after a couple tries, but a couple tries of 2 seconds each makes unlocking your phone a 4 seconds job which is just painfully slow. The occasional one tap magic is as rare as the occasional 120hz peak in the UI. As for face-unlock, I know it's there but I disabled it because it doesn't work in the dark (no IR sensor) and I simply want to unlock my phone at waist height, without having to raise it to my face.
Pixel 8 Pro remembers me of an exotic sports car that might look incredibly cool from a distance but is actually a pain to live with on a daily basis. And indeed it does look incredibly cool. I remember seeing this phone as a much better pick than the generic Galaxy and the boring iPhone, but I’d rather go boring or generic than having to handle this mess of an hardware Google sold me for 1159€.
TLDR : Positives = Camera quality, great design Negatives = everything else

Day one Pixel 8 Pro owner here. Thought I’d share my experience, after over 8 months of ownership.
P8P Bay 256GB has been my daily driver since its release. I use it with 5G on, screen at full resolution, dynamic "smooth display" refresh rate is on, no bluetooth or tethering. Brightness left on auto.
TLDR : Positives = Camera quality, great design, OS (with some caveats) Negatives = everything else
The positives :
Camera : beautiful imagery has always been the signature of the Pixel line, and this release is no exception. Every shot has this mesmerizing "Pixel touch", and the new ultrawide sensor is finally on par with the main unit. Videos are world class too, not quite on the level of the iPhone but we'll get there eventually.
Beautiful and unique design : It's sitting in a clear case, and in a sea of generic, boring slabs, it really stands out and doesn't go unnoticed. People often ask me what kind of phone it is, most are still not aware that Google is making smartphones and has been doing so for almost a decade now.
Very long software support : Seven years of updates is unrivaled in the Android scene, albeit with the following you’ll understand no one would willingly keep this phone seven years, so it’s not really a positive.
Sleek OS : Android in its purest, cleanest form. Customization galore. However as I'll mention later this pure android is NOT running smoothly, so I don't know if this count as a positive. Now onto the negatives.
First off, we must address the elephant in the room. Battery life. This phone charges PAINFULLY slow and discharges EXTREMELY fast. The opposite of what you want, right ?
The 10 minutes top ups to 50% is a concept Google seemingly never heard of. You want half a charge ? Better sit & wait half an hour. Full charge ? Go watch a movie. Now the discharge, and this is where the real drama clocks in. This phone EATS battery, ON IDLE.
On your average 9 to 5 workday (no camera, no games, just basic apps) you’ll head home with 15% tops. Phone dead by 7pm, then full charge will eat 90 minutes off your schedule, better not be in a hurry.
Now try to make a bit of power usage out of your power user phone : A bit of pictures for work at 10am, a short 4K video at 1pm, a bit of Fallout Shelter on the toilet at 2pm. You’re now looking at a 4pm shutdown.
But let’s go real on the camera, after all this is a camera flagship and it should be your reliable companion on a field day. Starting at 10 am : pictures, videos, a bit of editing, about 40 pictures taken and 3 videos of 10 minutes each. Shutdown at 1PM.
The CPU just eats battery on IDLE doing NOTHING. Throw anything heavy at it and you’ll head home with a dead phone, one that died long before your day was over. Simple as that.
Keep in mind that this is my experience with a 8-months-old device, and it will get worse and worse as the battery cell degrades over time. One can only wonder how many cell replacements this phone will need to get to the end of its famed software support.
Now we need to talk UI and animations because this isn’t good either. Stellar 120hz OLED panel and stock android should be a recipe for smoothness, but not here. Actually, some animations including the cool lock screen clock are barely 60hz. Switching apps isn’t 120hz either, nor is scrolling. A TON of lags and various frame drops, resulting in a framerate like 40-90hz, never stable, with the occasional but very rare peak at 120. This isn't TW3 gameplay on a potato but simply browing menus and scrolling instagram on a 2023, 1159€ flagship phone from Google.
This phone FEELS slow, and yet consume an enormous amount of power to do so. Infuriating.
One day I had to handle a coworker’s A54 to tweak a few things. I was SHOCKED by the smoothness, this was indeed true 120hz, which only happens a few times a day on Pixel 8 Pro. I realized what I was missing on by handling an Exynos mid-ranger. I understand the need for a dynamic framerate, not locked at 120hz all the time to save battery. But only reaching 120hz 5 times a day and still having a mediocre battery life wasn’t what I had in mind.
Finally, the optical, under-display fingerprint scanner. This, my friends, is an antique piece of hardware that belongs to a museum. Remember the Huawei Mate RS from 2018 ? One of the first phones with UDFS. The optical technology was so experimental and unreliable (still is, most OEMs moved on to ultrasonic) that Huawei also included another optical fingerprint sensor on the back of the device, just in case. Well, this ancient tech is what you have on the Pixel 8 Pro, and no optical sensor backup in sight.
Sometimes, it can take up to 2 full seconds of contact to….successfully fail to unlock. After it fails 3 times or so, it will ask you to enter your password, making one-hand unlocks a luck job. Sometimes it will successfully unlock after a couple tries, but a couple tries of 2 seconds each makes unlocking your phone a 4 seconds job which is just painfully slow. The occasional one tap magic is as rare as the occasional 120hz peak in the UI. As for face-unlock, I know it's there but I disabled it because it doesn't work in the dark (no IR sensor) and I simply want to unlock my phone at waist height, without having to raise it to my face.
Pixel 8 Pro remembers me of an exotic sports car that might look incredibly cool from a distance but is actually a pain to live with on a daily basis. And indeed it does look incredibly cool. I remember seeing this phone as a much better pick than the generic Galaxy and the boring iPhone, but I’d rather go boring or generic than having to handle this mess of an hardware Google sold me for 1159€.
(Phone is running with screen at full resolution, dynamic refresh rate is on, 5G is on, no thetering)
TLDR : Positives = Camera quality, great design Negatives = everything else

Have a nice dream~ 📋Sleep Tips: 💠‌Relax before bedtime: Do some relaxing activities 30 minutes before bedtime, such as meditation, deep breathing, yoga, or listening to soft music. 💠‌Maintain a regular schedule: Try to go to bed and wake up at the same time every day to help adjust your biological clock. 💠‌Create a comfortable sleeping environment: Ensure that your bedroom is quiet, dark, and has a moderate temperature. Consider using earplugs, eye masks, or thickened curtains to reduce noise and light. 💠‌Avoid caffeine and alcohol: Try to avoid consuming caffeine and alcohol within 4-6 hours before bedtime as they may interfere with your sleep.

Apple TV+ is one of the strangest streamers out there, with almost no licensed TV or film content and a small number of originals. That makes the best movies on Apple TV+ easy to find. There simply aren’t that many! Apple is clearly taking a “quality over quantity” approach, with its money spread across genres and targeted at making its subscribers (many roped in with a deal that came with one of the company’s tech products) treat it like a real contender. It also helps that it’s only $4.99 a month, or free for a year if you’ve just purchased a new (and eligible) device.
With films from up-and-comers like Minhal Baig, arthouse favorites like Sofia Coppola and Werner Herzog, some A-list music docs, one of the best animated movies of the 2020s and Martin Scorsese’s latest, Apple TV+ is actually making the case that it belongs in the conversation alongside the more established services. As long as it keeps adding good movies to its roster, that is. It recently snagged a few critical darlings like Killers of the Flower Moon and Wolfwalkers.

10. The Pigeon Tunnel

For a documentary about one of the most celebrated writers of spy fiction, The Pigeon Tunnel can seem—at first glance—deceptively placid. Clocking in at just over 90 minutes, the film features an extended conversation between David Cornwell, AKA John le Carre, and Oscar-winning docmaker Errol Morris. It’s just that. Two people talking, with Morris off-screen, their parrying question-and-answers broken up with archival images and re-enactments of Cornwell’s past, as well as snippets from the classic movies or TV adaptations based on his spy universe: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and A Perfect Spy.

9. Hala

Writedirector Minhal Baig’s Hala is an intimate coming-of-age drama held up by its personal writerly touches and a star-making turn from Geraldine Viswanathan as the title character. Hala’s struggling with the same kinds of things we normally see high school characters struggle with: What to do after graduation, how to manage a relationship with her parents that’s not quite adult and not quite childish, and (of course) boys. Viswanathan’s understated quiet and the warmth in which the situations are shot (almost always centered on her face)—be they at a family dinner or a walk in a Chicago park or a reading of a high school English assignment—make the dramatic ricochet of Hala’s minor rebellion rattle us all the harder.

8. Boys State

The tendency to read too much into Boys State as a representative of American politics—contemporary, functional, broken and otherwise—doesn’t quite line up with the event itself, in which every year the American Legion sponsors a sort of mock government sleepaway camp in Texas for high school boys (girls get a similar program of their own), where attendees join parties, run for office, craft platforms, run campaigns, hold debates, then ultimately exercise their right to vote.

7. On the Rocks

Sofia Coppola’s new movie On the Rocks starts out as a story of possessive fatherhood, with Felix (Bill Murray) narrating to his teenage daughter, Laura: “And remember, don’t give your heart to any boys. You are mine until you get married. Then you’re still mine.” The girl laughs off the declaration as a jape, which turns out to be a catastrophic tactical mistake. In her womanhood, Laura (Rashida Jones), does indeed get married to a man, Dean (Marlon Wayans), and they have two beautiful daughters of their own, eldest Maya (Liyanna Muscat) and youngest Theo (Alexandra Mary Reimer).

6. Bruce Springsteen’s Letter to You

The black-and-white behind-the-scenes documentary accompaniment to Bruce Springsteen’s album of the same name, Bruce Springsteen’s Letter to You is a beautiful and companionable tour through the music and its making from an American master. Director Thom Zimny buys into the album’s concept, which focuses on just how long Springsteen’s been at this thing. Poignant juxtaposition with archival footage and pictures emphasizes just how long the E Streeters have been at this—and reminds us of who and what was lost along the way.
Also Read: The Last Duel

5. Fireball: Visitors from Darker Worlds

Werner Herzog will show you multiple clips from Mimi Leader’s Deep Impact for no other reason than because he likes them, he finds them well-done and evocative—he says as much in that even-keeled, oddly accented voice over—then soon after chastise “film school doctrine” when complimenting a field video shot by a South Korean meteor specialist in Antarctica. Like Nomad: In the Footsteps of Bruce Chatwin, his documentary from earlier in the year, Fireball (co-directed with Clive Oppenheimer, with whom he made 2016’s Into the Inferno) is less about what it’s about (meteorites, shooting stars, cosmic debris—and the people who love them) than it is about Werner Herzog’s life, which is his filmography, which is a heavily manipulated search for ultimate truth.

4. CODA

Sometimes a movie so successfully plunges you into its world that it completely engulfs you in a lived-in experience. From the gorgeous, scenic opening moments of CODA, you can almost smell the Atlantic salt air and pungent scent of the daily catch. The movie transports you to Gloucester, Massachusetts and lovingly drops you into the life of one family. Seventeen-year-old Ruby Rossi (Emilia Jones) is what the title of the movie refers to—a child of deaf adults.

3. A Charlie Brown Christmas

We could get into plenty of arguments over which Charlie Brown animated special is best, but A Charlie Brown Christmas is my favorite pull of the bunch. Charlie Brown’s confrontation with the Christmas season’s commercialism (back in 1965 no less) and a sad little fir tree make this a cartoon classic, as the ultimate funny-pages shlimazel suffers endless social indignities (no Christmas cards) and the holiday blues.

2. Wolfwalkers

Wolfwalkers is filmmaker and animator Tomm Moore’s latest project out of Cartoon Saloon, the animation studio he co-founded in 1999 with Paul Young, and the capper to his loosely bound Irish folklore trilogy (begun with 2009’s The Secret of Kells and continued with 2014’s Song of the Sea). At first blush, the film appears burdened with too much in mind—chiefly thoughts on everything from English colonialism to earnest portraiture of Irish myths, the keystones of Moore’s storytelling for the last decade.

1. Killers of the Flower Moon

Martin Scorsese has made a career telling stories that tackle issues of justice, retribution and betrayal. From his overt and poetic crime films, through to his dark comedies, religious parables and character pieces, he has long been drawn to stories where the ambiguities of life collide with the complexities of survival, and where day-to-day choices result in consequences sometimes obvious, and sometimes far more subtle and insidious.

Wade's visor beeped to life as his alarm system went off, the murder drone's clock showing the time, "8:00 AM", changing to his green-yellow eyes as he woke up. Tina's visor activated as well, the drone girl's own alarm activating she awakened from slumber with Wade.
Stifling a yawn, Wade looked to Tina as he rubbed her back, easing her as she rose upright. "Good morning, sweetie."
"Morning, Wade." Tina replied quietly as she looked to Wade, the two drones smiling warmly as they took in each other's presence. Noticing they were both almost completely bare of clothing, the two drones blushed as Wade began to move off the bed.
"Well, I should get something on." The former worker drone stated as they touched down on the floor, Tina grabbing her green shirt from the counter as she tried to get dressed as well.
"So should I." Tina said back as she put the shirt on, memories of their recent night together still fluent in her mind as she slowly walked over to the kitchen.
The last hours of the past night had been calm for the most part, Wade and his friends detailing their tragic capture, the loss of his brother Ron, the rescue of the drones, and finally, Tina and Wade's miraculous escape from the factory before returning to the base. After the chatter in the bar, the group split off to go their separate ways for the time being, Jasmine going with Wade and Tina to help them into her place before leaving them to watch it while she went to get some food for the next day. During their quiet stay in the apartment, Wade and Tina made small talk over what to do in the future before having what humans would call a... very pleasant night together.
And now, with the new day approaching, the drone couple had to get ready for whatever came ahead. Walking over to his clothes on one of the vacant chairs in the living room, Wade picked up his shirt, slapping it on him before glancing to Tina, who merely wore her copper brown pants and green shirt from yesterday. Smiling at his girlfriend, Wade spoke to her as he turned back around to continue redressing himself. "Seems Jasmine went out somewhere this morning. I don't see her anywhere."
Tina listened to Wade as she inspected the counter, noticing a small sticky note lying on it as she took hold of it. Tina could tell it was left by Jasmine, given the handwriting. The note said, "Morning you two! Went to get some food I forgot to pick up, I should be back shortly after you wake up. - Jasmine"
The pilot drone smiled as she read her sister's note, then turning to the living room to speak to Wade. "She went to get some breakfast, we should expect her to come back any minute now." Opening the fridge, Tina grabbed two cool cans of oil, one for herself and another for Wade. Setting the cans down on the counter, Tina closed the fridge before taking hold of the cans again, taking them with her to the living room where a fully dressed Wade now resided at.
As Tina took a seat next to Wade on the couch, the disassembly drone examined his built-in smartcomm, trying to add all the still active contacts he remembered off the top of his circuits as he spoke to Tina. "It's gonna be hard, being my own person without Ron." Chuckling, Wade smirked at Tina, finding himself unsure at his own words. "Or maybe I'm just overreacting."
Tina chortled at Wade's inconfidence as she tried to bring him some, handing him one of the oil beverages as she spoke. "I think you'll do fine, honey. I've run into some disrespectful humans in my life too."
Wade nodded in understanding as he took a sip of the oil, the sound of the front door opening catching the drones' attention as Jasmine walked in. Carrying a paper bag full of food items, the human pilot spoke aloud. "Morning, you two! Just had to finish an errand I screwed up last night."
"Oh, it's not a problem for us, Jass." Wade replied as he took a sip of his oil, Tina looking over to the kitchen wall as she listened to her sister.
"How was your night? You lovers passed out on me when I came in, so I just rested on the couch." The lover drones gave looks of apologetic concern as Jasmine walked back into the living room, the woman noticing Wade and Tina's faces as she continued speaking. "It's nothing, though. I slept well."
"I hope so, we didn't mean to take up the whole bed." Tina responded as she gave a blush of embarrassment, Wade nodding in agreement as Jasmine replied back.
"I did, really. Besides, you two deserved the bed after all you put up with yesterday. Gotta have some place to blow some steam."
Wade and Tina smiled at Jasmine's comment, then blushed as Wade questioned about her phrasing. "Wait, you mean that as a euphemism or...?"
A knock at the door shut up the discussion, Wade standing up as he offered to handle the visitors. "I'll get the door." Tina nodded as he walked over to the apartment entrance, checking the small peephole before opening the door. Looking down, he saw two beings: a human and drone soldier whom he assumed were from the Coalition given their specific body gear.
While he took notice of the militia duo, the drone soldier spoke up to him. "Good morning, we're looking for a..." He lifted up what appeared to be an ID card, Wade glancing at the object as he heard the drone continue his question. "...Wade Carter? We heard he resided here since last night." Looking to Wade again, the drone stopped himself upon finishing his sentence, then picking himself up as he spoke further. "Come to think of it, you look like him."
Wade smiled warmly as he spoke to the two guests. "That's right. You need something?"
"Eh, more like the other way around, actually." The drone soldier replied as he handed Wade the ID, the former worker drone taking it in his hands as he glanced over it. The ID showed him from when he was still a worker drone, but was thankfully untarnished from the factory as Wade held it tightly. Before he could speak, the human soldier handed him a pouch carrying what Wade presumed were a few more of his personal belongings. The drone soldier spoke once more as Wade took the pouch. "We found these while scavenging the storage bays at the factory, we've been heading around delivering them back to those they belong to."
Wade smiled brightly before finally speaking in a grateful tone. "Thanks, Sirs. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."
The two soldiers nodded as the human one replied. "Just doing our job, Mr. Carter. Have a pleasant morning." With that, the troopers departed the apartment complex, leaving Wade to himself as he shut the door.
Heading back inside, Tina and Jasmine looked to Wade as the former spoke to him. "Who was that?"
"Just some boys from the Coalition, and just like Nathan said, they finally found my ID!" Wade answered before showing the card off, Tina grinned happily as she saw it, Jasmine giving a simple smile as he spoke further. "Feels good to have it back, I think that was what was keeping me down a little yesterday."
"Well, at least you won't have to worry about that anymore." Tina replied as Wade put the card in his pocket, taking his seat again before setting the pouch at his legs. Taking notice of the pouch, Tina asked, "What's in that? Battery candy?"
Wade shook his head as he began pulling out the items inside the bag, speaking to Tina as he examined them. "Oh, no, looks like some more of my belongings." Once he was done, Wade put the pouch on the couch's cup holder, on the space behind the drink holders themselves. The items were other various cards and papers with various personal information of Wades written on them, along with Wade's wallet. Wade found it almost comical that the items were all separated from each other, rather than being inside the wallet after getting cleared out.
Tina seemed to agree with Wade's thoughts as he began reinserting the cards into his wallet. "Well, that's silly. They just put everything in that little pouch instead of putting it all back in that thing."
Wade chuckled as he put his ID into the frontal window pocket of the wallet. "Yeah, guess they had to clear every little part of it before sending it off." As he finished restocking his wallet, Wade glanced to the pouch before continuing. "Besides, that IS a nice pouch."
"It sure is." Tina replied before taking another sip of her oil can, Wade putting his wallet away as she spoke again. "On another subject, however, you think we should go see if Nathan's around? Him and Kurtis could come by and have some small talk."
Wade nodded as he started to speak, but stopped as Jasmine spoke first. "Actually, I ran into F earlier while at the market. I heard from her that Nathan was going to be joining her for a date later this afternoon." Glancing to Wade, she finished with, "So he might be already busy for the moment."
Taking his own oil can, Wade shrugged his arm as he replied. "Eh, no problem with that. Don't wanna kill a growing relationship, now do we?"
Tina chuckled lightly as she agreed with her boyfriend. "Indeed, if it were us, they'd probably do the same fo-"
The chatter stopped as another knock sounded at the door, Wade moving to get up again as he glanced to the ladies in confusion. "Another visitor?"
"You think it could be F?" Tina made a wild guess as Wade approached the door, glancing out the peephole in slight surprise before opening the door.
Wade felt as if their talk about the Ceres couple had been a form of summoning as he saw F and Nathan standing at the door, bearing strangely serious expressions as they were greeted by the former worker drone. "F! Nathan! Funny timing, we were just talking about you. Come on in, have a seat."
As the two walked past Wade, F pat him on the shoulder as she spoke to him. "As much as I'd like to visit Wade, I'm afraid we're not gonna be here long, nor are you and the Fowleys."
Wade raised an eyebrow at her reply as he followed Nathan and F, the two simply standing in front of Tina and Jasmine as Wade returned to the living room. "Oh?"
"We're leaving? Should we get dressed and pack our things ASAP?" Tina asked with mild concern as F replied to her.
"Yep, you're on the ball with getting ready, but we're... not exactly leaving." The disassembly drone's words brought a confused face from Tina as Nathan clarified his crush.
"We got a call from J, just as we were heading to one of the diners here." The two drones paused for a moment, glancing to each other as they almost spewed out about their date, but shook it off as Nathan continued with little hesitation. "She told us that Tessa had intercepted some kind of transmission, one that might help us clear up this situation with the company faster than we initially thought."
F gave an affirming nod on Nathan's explanation before adding to it. "Her and J are playing host to a meeting held by the general stationed here, and she wants us to attend." Glancing over Wade and the Fowley sisters, she finished the explanation with, "They especially want you two to come as well, given what you both went through."
Wade and Tina gave blushes of embarrassment at the news, honored by the invitation but also a little uncomfortable with their elevated status as they glanced to each other. After taking a moment to process what they heard, Wade broke the silence. "Well, I did make that promise at the factory, and to J and Tessa earlier... and I intend on acting on said promise." Looking to Tina, his girlfriend gave an agreeing nod as she stood up with him.
"Glad to hear it. We don't have to be in that much of a rush, though, the meeting doesn't start until 10." F stated, Wade and Tina both glancing at the clock to check the time before looking back to their murder drone friend with nods of acknowledgement.
Standing up from her chair, Jasmine stretched as she announced her goals to the room. "Well, in that case, I should hit the shower."
"Right, I'll get myself fixed up too." Tina replied as she looked to Wade, the two sharing warm smiles before heading to the kitchen. Noticing the still unstored items on the counter, Tina spoke aloud. "Jasmine? You mind if Wade and I help store the groceries in the cabinets here?"
"Sure, thanks!" Jasmine answered in a grateful tone as she went off to the bathroom in the back of the apartment, Tina glancing to Wade as she began to take some food out of the bag.
"I'll get the refrigerated stuff." Wade stated simply as he took some items out of the bag, Tina putting her chosen food stuffs into one of the cabinets as they worked to unload the fresh consumables from Jasmine's errand.