Ics 700 2011 test answers
Getting my doctor to listen
2024.05.15 20:21 Beginning_Cook7501 Getting my doctor to listen
I've been dealing with very specific GI issues for months that point towards the possibility of serious illness and my doctor has chalked them up mainly to anxiety. I am seeing a new doctor tomorrow. Does anyone have tips for getting her to listen/not looking crazy?
I want some actual testing and answers. Yes, I'm anxious, but the anxiety started after my symptoms.
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I want some actual testing and answers. Yes, I'm anxious, but the anxiety started after my symptoms.
2024.05.15 20:20 mfjojoref_ Ajuda com estágio na Embraer - Minha última chance
Estou tentando pela 6ª vez o estágio de engenharia na embraer. Na segunda e na terceira vez que tentei, consegui chegar até a última fase, da entrevista com o gestor, e acabei sendo reprovado nessas ocasiões. O que não faz sentido pra mim é que nas últimas duas vezes que me inscrevi, o meu currículo está muito mais completo do que das outras vezes, e mesmo assim eu não passei nem na fase de currículo.
Eu faço engenharia de materiais em universidade federal. Eu fiz IC durante 3 anos, 2 anos na área de equações diferenciais e 1 ano na área de compósitos poliméricos. Fiz parte de equipe de fórmula SAE durante 2 anos, sendo inclusive diretor administrativo da equipe. Fui da empresa júnior, sei python, arduino, solidworks, tenho experiência com gestão e comunicação. Tenho cursos em SCRUM e Six Sigma. Tenho inglês fluente e francês básico. Excel e Power BI avançados. Tenho bastante experiência com impressão 3D. Atualmente estou fazendo estágio em uma multinacional já faz 9 meses. Tudo isso está bem descrito no meu currículo na gupy.
Me inscrevi de novo para o estágio com início em agosto (2024.2), e ao que tudo indica não vou passar de novo (a vaga já teve várias movimentações). Tirei 89 no teste de inglês e 86 no teste de lógica.
Alguém consegue me falar por que não estou passando? Alguém está no processo e foi chamado, ou estava participando do processo anterior? Gostaria de ver o currículo de alguém que foi aprovado para entrevistas pra saber o que estou fazendo de errado. Eu estou quase me formando, então essa é a minha última chance de passar. Na verdade acabei até atrasando minha formação pra ver se eu conseguia passar nesse estágio, pq na minha cabeça se eu não consigo passar nem em um estágio, quem dirá em uma vaga de emprego...
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Eu faço engenharia de materiais em universidade federal. Eu fiz IC durante 3 anos, 2 anos na área de equações diferenciais e 1 ano na área de compósitos poliméricos. Fiz parte de equipe de fórmula SAE durante 2 anos, sendo inclusive diretor administrativo da equipe. Fui da empresa júnior, sei python, arduino, solidworks, tenho experiência com gestão e comunicação. Tenho cursos em SCRUM e Six Sigma. Tenho inglês fluente e francês básico. Excel e Power BI avançados. Tenho bastante experiência com impressão 3D. Atualmente estou fazendo estágio em uma multinacional já faz 9 meses. Tudo isso está bem descrito no meu currículo na gupy.
Me inscrevi de novo para o estágio com início em agosto (2024.2), e ao que tudo indica não vou passar de novo (a vaga já teve várias movimentações). Tirei 89 no teste de inglês e 86 no teste de lógica.
Alguém consegue me falar por que não estou passando? Alguém está no processo e foi chamado, ou estava participando do processo anterior? Gostaria de ver o currículo de alguém que foi aprovado para entrevistas pra saber o que estou fazendo de errado. Eu estou quase me formando, então essa é a minha última chance de passar. Na verdade acabei até atrasando minha formação pra ver se eu conseguia passar nesse estágio, pq na minha cabeça se eu não consigo passar nem em um estágio, quem dirá em uma vaga de emprego...
2024.05.15 20:14 uneombredelalune First car outta college!
Hello! I'm buying my first car from carmax. Parents are international so obviously I can't have them come with me or co-sign. I have a new well-paying job, good/fair credit (since the age of my accounts is newer), and recently graduated so I still have my own insurance just not car insurance. I don't know if any of this will hinder my ability to purchase a car from carmax. I have one being shipped to a location near me and want to check it out as well as test drive it, possibly with a friend, but am worried that they won't sell to me because of all these factors? Does anyone have an idea of what kind of process I'm looking at or what questions I should be prepared to answer?
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2024.05.15 20:14 Kinniken Disappointing results with simple "data entry" task - any tips?
I've been using LLMs for over a year now, both personally and for work, via chat and via APIs, including for tasks that would be considered very qualified work if done by a human.
Recently however I've tried a use case for work that I thought would be very easy for LLMs and the results I'm getting are quite disappointing, I'd love some feedback on whether I'm doing something wrong.
The task: my company frequently have to do data entry for clients, where we receive exam subject papers as words and we need to enter them in a system in a structured format. The word formats used vary depending on the client, there is no standard. For example:
I tried automatising this by turning the Word into Markdown and then sending it to an LLM to get a JSON output. It kind of works, but:
submitted by Kinniken to ChatGPTPro [link] [comments]
Recently however I've tried a use case for work that I thought would be very easy for LLMs and the results I'm getting are quite disappointing, I'd love some feedback on whether I'm doing something wrong.
The task: my company frequently have to do data entry for clients, where we receive exam subject papers as words and we need to enter them in a system in a structured format. The word formats used vary depending on the client, there is no standard. For example:
- the correct answer to a question might be bolded, or have a "(correct)" at the end, or there might be a mention "Correct answer: C" after the possible options
- the questions might be a single line or several paragraphs
- the questions might be split in multiple parts, and if they are, the part names might be styled differently
- there might be some optional instructions, for example, the amont of points a question is worth
I tried automatising this by turning the Word into Markdown and then sending it to an LLM to get a JSON output. It kind of works, but:
- The LLMs tend to pick the answer they believe is correct and not the one from the input despite specific instructions
- They sometime rewrite the questions
- They are very inconsistent in what they include in the question (numbering, explanations...), even with extremely similar inputs
- Sometime they skip an entire bunch of questions for no clear reason.
Your task is to import questions and answers from a source text. The source text is a markdown document containing a list of questions, sometimes with multiple-choice answers. It might also contain irrelevant data like incomplete questions or other content. You must find ONLY the complete, well-formed questions and their answers in the source and convert them to JSON. If a question does not fit the JSON format given, DO NOT import it. Each line in the original text is numbered. You must indicate for each question you find which lines form the question and which lines form the answers. The title of a question can be multiple lines, NOT including the possible answers. The answers must each be a single line. NEVER put the same line both in the title and the answers. Put all the lines related to a question (EXCEPT the answers) related to a question in the title. For example, a question might have a text it relates to, then an actual question, then mentions of images or documents to add to the question: all those lines must go in the title. All questions start with a number followed by a period. For example, if the input is this: 124: 10. 125: 126: Xi Jinping has lauded China’s ties with France as a model for the international community as he arrived in Paris amid threats of a trade war over Chinese electric cars and French cognac. 127: 128: On his first visit to the EU in five years, China’s president will meet his French counterpart, Emmanuel Macron, and the European Commission president, Ursula von der Leyen, who will urge him to reduce trade imbalances and use his influence with Russia over the war in Ukraine. 129: 130: Which of the following is correct? 131: 132: 1. Xi Jinping is visiting Austria 133: 2. Xi Jinping and Macron are expected to discuss lunar exploration 134: 3. Meloni will attend the meeting alongside Macron 135: 4. Xi Jinping and Macron are expected to discuss trade issues 136: 137: Key: D 138: 139: Image to be inserted: B23_ Media_fr.gif 140: PDF to be attached: Scratch pad.pdf The title field should include line number 126,127,128,129,130 as they provide context and the question itself, as well as 139 and 140 to include the medias. All those lines relate to ONE question, NOT multiple questions. ALWAYS make sure medias related to a question are included with the question. If a question or answer title starts with a numbering or lettering, you must remove it by filling the "d" field ("d" for "deleteFromSTART"). Don't put leading or trailling whitespace in "d". NEVER put the entire answer in it. The document can define exam parts, for example "Verbal reasoning" or "Mathematics". You must indicate the part for each question using the "p" field ("p" for "part"). Output the JSON without whitespace to save tokens. 1. **JSON Format**: Output the questions and answers EXACTLY as they appear in the source, using the following JSON structure: {"q":[ #q for questions {"t":[3,4], #titles, only lines that make up the question title, NOT the answers "d":"1. ", #numbering to delete from title "p":"1", #line on which you found the exam part, if any "a":[ #a for answers {"t": 7,"d": "_(a)_", # d is the numbering to delete from the answer title, NEVER the full answer. "c":false # Correctness copied verbatim from the source, NOT guessed by you },{"t": 8,"d": "(b)", # d is the numbering to delete from the title, NEVER the full answer. "c":true # Correctness copied verbatim from the source, NOT guessed by you }]}]} 2. **Strict Error Handling**: If unable to import questions for any reason (no complete questions found, unclear format, ambiguous answers...), you MUST provide an error message explaining the issue, using this format: {"error":"Clear explanation of why questions cannot be reliably imported"} 3. **Rigorous Validation**: Before outputting questions, perform a strict validation to ensure all questions are complete, unambiguous and meet the guidelines exactly. Verify the JSON format is perfectly structured. Remember, the goal is to import ONLY the exact questions present in the input text, without ANY modifications, and export them in a structured JSON format. The questions MUST BE IDENTICAL to the source. Any inaccuracies could lead to INVALID EXAMS THAT WILL CAUSE MAJOR PROBLEMS FOR STUDENTS. If you have ANY doubt about a question, EXCLUDE IT and if needed, RETURN AN ERROR. If you are AT ALL UNSURE about any part of a question, DISCARD IT ENTIRELY. For example, if the input given is this: 2: 3: 4: 5: 25. What is the capital city of France ? 6: 7: (a) New Delhi 8: 9: (b) Washington 10: 11: _(c) Paris_ 12: 13: (d) Lyons The expected output would be: {"q":[{"t":[5],"d":"25.","a":[{"t":7,"d":"(a)","c":false},{"t":9,"d":"(b)","c":false},{"t":11,"d":"_(c)","c":true},{"t":13,"d":"(d)","c":false}]}]} Return ONLY the JSON object with the list of VERBATIM questions OR the JSON object with the error message, NOTHING ELSE. Any tips/ideas? Am I doing something wrong?2024.05.15 20:13 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think
When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
submitted by Weathers_Writing to weatherswriting [link] [comments]
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
2024.05.15 20:12 gehraiyaan im failing calculus and mechanics this semster
I have never wanted to cry so bad in my life. I thought I had studied enough for my calc test today but I couldn’t even answer one ques on the test confidently. My average is already so low that even if I get a 100% on the final I won’t pass.T HIS IS BADDD. FUCKKK. I feel so incompetent and stupid. I know it’s not the absolute end of the world but it’s not helping. I am going to be put on probation for until I graduate.
submitted by gehraiyaan to Vent [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 20:12 PearVast8792 Button Test
Has anyone the feeling that they don‘t know what to answer anymore? I don‘t just know what to answer.
When asking myself, I would say „no“ to become a woman. However, when using the button test, I don‘t have a clue what to answer. That‘s weird and makes me miserable
submitted by PearVast8792 to transOCD [link] [comments]
When asking myself, I would say „no“ to become a woman. However, when using the button test, I don‘t have a clue what to answer. That‘s weird and makes me miserable
2024.05.15 20:09 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think
When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
submitted by Weathers_Writing to nosleep [link] [comments]
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
2024.05.15 20:09 MrFergison No Official Diagnosis, But Major Life Improvements
I wanted to start with this post, as I am not a licensed medical practitioner. I am someone who noticed a correlation of symptoms and bloodwork with a medical study of Gluten Ataxia in Celiac Patients. Since Gluten Ataxia has no official diagnosis in my healthcare provider (especially so when I am negative for Celiac) I had been left with no answers.
Tested negative for
When exposed to gluten, all of the symptoms come back in full force.
I will give a full breakdown in another post. Take Care and be kind to yourself.
submitted by MrFergison to GlutenAtaxia [link] [comments]
None of the doctors or specialists I have seen/spoken with had even heard of it, or has been able to find any documented cause of my symptoms.It is also important to note that, per current USA testing standards, I have
Tested negative for
- Gluten sensitivity/allergy
- Wheat sensitivity/allergy
- Celiac, per genetic testing
When exposed to gluten, all of the symptoms come back in full force.
I will give a full breakdown in another post. Take Care and be kind to yourself.
2024.05.15 20:08 JustForQuestions2 What car should I buy? 2011 Mazda 3 vs 2002 Toyota Camry
Hey folks - first time poster on this subreddit and I was hoping to get some advice on this comparison since I can't find any online.
I have the option of buying either a 2011 Mazda 3(2.5 L) or a 2002 Toyota Camry (V6 LE) for $2000
Mazda Details:
submitted by JustForQuestions2 to whatcarshouldIbuy [link] [comments]
I have the option of buying either a 2011 Mazda 3(2.5 L) or a 2002 Toyota Camry (V6 LE) for $2000
Mazda Details:
- Pro: Less miles than the Camry at 130k miles
- Pro: Newer year, and comes with bluetooth radio
- Con: Lower resale value
- Con: Chipped paint/cosmetics but overall no issues
- Con: Potentially susceptible to TCM issues and in the past has a lower reliability score than Toyota
- Con: Smaller (compact car vs mid-size sedan)
- Pro: Largemore storage space than the Mazda 3
- Pro: Fairly good mpg compared to Mazda 3
- Pro: Stronger engine than Mazda 3
- Con: Older, no bluetooth radio
- Con: Higher mileage at 160k
2024.05.15 20:07 Flwx11 Quality video minecraft
Hello everybody I have a fairly simple question but I can't find an answer on the internet... (maybe I'm looking wrong) I would like to record my games on Minecraft and so I am doing several tests to ensure that the quality of the videos is as good as possible. However, I have the impression that the rendering of the video lacks quality and fps... I am attaching the logs and one of the test videos in questions
https://obsproject.com/logs/rH0bpegjNOzjiBPD
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWFkWLZPSMM
submitted by Flwx11 to obs [link] [comments]
https://obsproject.com/logs/rH0bpegjNOzjiBPD
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWFkWLZPSMM
2024.05.15 20:06 ParisOsmosis For a 40 year old full-time retail worker, what should I focus on for the next year to get unstuck from my current job?
Hello everyone,
I currently work at Whole Foods as an order writer, and I have been in the organic food industry for 15 years.
My education history:
Now, believe me when I say I could easily look at all this and consider myself a directionless screwup who never capitalized on a few opportunities I set up for myself. Again, I am more than willing to provide some context from my personal life to explain some of this, but I don't want to focus so much on the why, but rather what I can do from this point going forward.
A year and a half ago, I reached out to CSU Global and currently am enrolled in their Computer Science program. So far, I have finished nine credits with a 4.0 but am stuck trying to get through the College Algebra class and I am worried about my ability to finish this degree I a reasonable time to where I can start to transition out of Whole Foods.
All of this is to say that I have very few people to get advice from and would like this sub's perspective on what I should put my time and energy into going forward. One thing I have going for me is good time-managment around my full-time job and few commitments in my life outside of what I set for myself (no kids and single).
Careers and degrees I am considering:
With all that said, I think I will leave it here as there are a lot of details already. At the end of the day, I want to put myself into education while being able to work full-time and realistically upgrade my career in the next two years. Making $75,000-$100,000 would be a significant step up for me and allow me to further invest in myself instead of just getting by. A lot of times I have had to pull back from investing time into getting into jobs because I just have not had enough money without keeping myself employed with jobs like Whole Foods.
Thank you to anyone who is willing to give me some advice here!
submitted by ParisOsmosis to careerguidance [link] [comments]
I currently work at Whole Foods as an order writer, and I have been in the organic food industry for 15 years.
My education history:
- I dropped out of high school and took my HSED (GED) 2001. I am open to answering questions about my life, but to keep it short here, my childhood was all over the map. My father died early, I moved often, had a few step-fathers, lived in an 18-child foster home at one point, etc. The point is that while I had bouts of doing well in school, I would eventually be displaced from moving, and by high school, I reached a point where I wanted it over and tested out.
- Graduated as a trained therapeutic massage therapist in 2002. I practiced this profession part-time for about ten years after graduating
- In 2008, I decided to return to school, at a community college, for nursing. This required close to 2 years of taking prerequisites, which I did do. I graduated with an Associate in Science and a 3.5 GPA, in 2012. I did not attend that nursing school (a long story related to my city).
- In 2014, I finished a 200-hour yoga teacher training and was certified with the Yoga Alliance. However, I have never become a yoga teacher. A fear of failure in front of others and some stage fright are contributing factors here, not a lack of passion for yoga or learning about it.
Now, believe me when I say I could easily look at all this and consider myself a directionless screwup who never capitalized on a few opportunities I set up for myself. Again, I am more than willing to provide some context from my personal life to explain some of this, but I don't want to focus so much on the why, but rather what I can do from this point going forward.
A year and a half ago, I reached out to CSU Global and currently am enrolled in their Computer Science program. So far, I have finished nine credits with a 4.0 but am stuck trying to get through the College Algebra class and I am worried about my ability to finish this degree I a reasonable time to where I can start to transition out of Whole Foods.
All of this is to say that I have very few people to get advice from and would like this sub's perspective on what I should put my time and energy into going forward. One thing I have going for me is good time-managment around my full-time job and few commitments in my life outside of what I set for myself (no kids and single).
Careers and degrees I am considering:
- Computer Science, though honestly, I am not sure this is the best fit currently
- Accounting
- Human Resources
- Radiology. A friend studying to become a doctor advised me that I would be a better radiologist than a nurse based on my personality. I have already done a lot of prep for nursing, so I am thinking hard about this.
- An MBA to augment my career in retail since I at least have that job going for me at the moment.
With all that said, I think I will leave it here as there are a lot of details already. At the end of the day, I want to put myself into education while being able to work full-time and realistically upgrade my career in the next two years. Making $75,000-$100,000 would be a significant step up for me and allow me to further invest in myself instead of just getting by. A lot of times I have had to pull back from investing time into getting into jobs because I just have not had enough money without keeping myself employed with jobs like Whole Foods.
Thank you to anyone who is willing to give me some advice here!
2024.05.15 20:06 krunchhunny Worsening vision
Not really sure what I'm hoping for here but here's a brain dump. I started wearing glasses at about age 24 for short sightedness (I'm 45 now) and moved to contact lenses fairly soon after. I love them, always have. I have astigmatism too. Recently though, last 6-8 months I'd say, I've found my eyesight is just getting worse and worse, to the point even with my lenses in, I'm struggling to read e.g car licence plate from 20 feet away. Without them I'm useless. Signs and details, outlines etc are just blurry and my up close vision is the pits to the point I can only read my phone or print if it's about 8 to 10 inches away from my face. I have a 75 inch TV and without glasses or lenses I can barely pick out a face. My eyes feel tired and it takes a while to be able to see clearly if I switch from focusing on something closer up to further away. Eg...if I'm in work (I work retail) and I'm creating a display then say go outside to help a customer, my distance vision is shot to shit for a good few minutes.
I have also recently found out I have cancer and the meds I'm on can actually cause glaucoma and vision issues. I'm only a month in so I'm confident it's not the cause of my issues but it worries me that 12% of people who take this drug get irreversible retinopathy.
I'm getting a full eye test and lens check next week but the last few times over the last couple years, my optician (whom I trust implicitly) assures me my eyes are the same and I don't need stronger lenses.
I guess I'm just super worried about losing my vision, besides cancer it's a huge fear and phobia of mine. And I'm already living through one of those nightmares.
Like I said, not sure what I'm expecting, not answers really, but anyone have any similar issues?
submitted by krunchhunny to Eyesight [link] [comments]
I have also recently found out I have cancer and the meds I'm on can actually cause glaucoma and vision issues. I'm only a month in so I'm confident it's not the cause of my issues but it worries me that 12% of people who take this drug get irreversible retinopathy.
I'm getting a full eye test and lens check next week but the last few times over the last couple years, my optician (whom I trust implicitly) assures me my eyes are the same and I don't need stronger lenses.
I guess I'm just super worried about losing my vision, besides cancer it's a huge fear and phobia of mine. And I'm already living through one of those nightmares.
Like I said, not sure what I'm expecting, not answers really, but anyone have any similar issues?
2024.05.15 20:05 That-Explanation-649 Wrong Answer in MOG tests
 | https://preview.redd.it/7wvf6iabrm0d1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bffcb0e497b5d0ae96a8e855ac7e9af52f1a5948 submitted by That-Explanation-649 to Bitsatards [link] [comments] I attempted a test i found this to be flawed. The given answer would be correct if it was " How is D related to A?" |
2024.05.15 20:02 ultrasubmarine Unacceptable emotions surfacing in between/after sessions
I’ve been seeing a psychodynamic psychotherapist every week for a few months. I am pretty comfortable with her and she knows what to say, I can open up to her and we have managed to identify some of my patterns.
This week I verbalised in session that I get very easily angered these days (at literally nothing, like people taking too long to decide what to eat) and then very anxious that I got angry, so I think there is a link between the two. She thought that was a good observation, and we ended the session and said we would discuss more the next time.
I probably haven’t talked about anger enough with her yet (it’s always been anxiety, and grief, that have been the main emotions for me) but I have been feeling very unprecedented, overwhelming amounts of anger. It shocks me because I have not felt this angry in like maybe 10 years, when I was a teenager and being shamed and ridiculed for having these emotions. My mother always told me that I’m just like my father (who has anger management issues, and who traumatised me with them when I was younger as well) and any displays of anger were quickly shut down.
I have always striven not to be like him, to not be a horrible person, but now I am just increasingly angry about the fact that I have tried so hard to be a good daughter all these years, and what I have are parents who point blank refuse to acknowledge any of my pain and suffering. That their mindset and decisions and treatment towards me have contributed significantly to the shell of a person I am today and the trauma I have. I have wasted years of my life trying to be good. And what have I gotten for it? Crippling anxiety and now anger and parents who are ageing and expect me to take care of them. I tried my hardest not to have needs (which I ended up having anyway, I was not the perfect daughter, failed tests and the like and flared up at and was/am rude to them) and be a robot since I was always told I was too sensitive and emotional, but it all failed. I just was never happy with myself because I was constantly trying to shape-shift into a person who would attract the least amount of criticism from others. Except that person doesn’t exist.
Don’t really know where I’m going with this but please share your experiences if you are in the process of working out the link between anxiety and anger as well… I need some answers if not I’ll go crazy
submitted by ultrasubmarine to TalkTherapy [link] [comments]
This week I verbalised in session that I get very easily angered these days (at literally nothing, like people taking too long to decide what to eat) and then very anxious that I got angry, so I think there is a link between the two. She thought that was a good observation, and we ended the session and said we would discuss more the next time.
I probably haven’t talked about anger enough with her yet (it’s always been anxiety, and grief, that have been the main emotions for me) but I have been feeling very unprecedented, overwhelming amounts of anger. It shocks me because I have not felt this angry in like maybe 10 years, when I was a teenager and being shamed and ridiculed for having these emotions. My mother always told me that I’m just like my father (who has anger management issues, and who traumatised me with them when I was younger as well) and any displays of anger were quickly shut down.
I have always striven not to be like him, to not be a horrible person, but now I am just increasingly angry about the fact that I have tried so hard to be a good daughter all these years, and what I have are parents who point blank refuse to acknowledge any of my pain and suffering. That their mindset and decisions and treatment towards me have contributed significantly to the shell of a person I am today and the trauma I have. I have wasted years of my life trying to be good. And what have I gotten for it? Crippling anxiety and now anger and parents who are ageing and expect me to take care of them. I tried my hardest not to have needs (which I ended up having anyway, I was not the perfect daughter, failed tests and the like and flared up at and was/am rude to them) and be a robot since I was always told I was too sensitive and emotional, but it all failed. I just was never happy with myself because I was constantly trying to shape-shift into a person who would attract the least amount of criticism from others. Except that person doesn’t exist.
Don’t really know where I’m going with this but please share your experiences if you are in the process of working out the link between anxiety and anger as well… I need some answers if not I’ll go crazy
2024.05.15 20:02 SpRaY123123 [Store] Over 450 Knives & Gloves Awp dragon lore bs 0.48, Awp gungnir bs 0.51, Bayonet sapphire fn 0.01, Ak gold arabesque bs 0.51, Bowie sapphire fn 0.03, Bowie emerald fn 0.01, Sport gloves omega mw 0.12, Shadow daggers emerald fn 0.01, M9 lore 0.22 ft, Butterfly case hardened mw 0.11
[Store] Over 450 Knives & Gloves Awp dragon lore bs 0.48, Awp gungnir bs 0.51, Bayonet sapphire fn 0.01, Ak gold arabesque bs 0.51, Bowie sapphire fn 0.03, Bowie emerald fn 0.01, Sport gloves omega mw 0.12, Shadow daggers emerald fn 0.01, M9 lore 0.22 ft, Butterfly case hardened mw 0.11
📷Store
Accepting csgo skins only.
Tradelink : https://steamcommunity.com/tradeoffenew/?partner=123980288&token=5OeD13Oi
Profile : https://steamcommunity.com/id/SpRaYeRRRR
Items B/O :
★ AWP Dragon Lore (Battle-Scarred) B/O 4250$
★ AWP Gungnir (Battle-Scarred) B/O 6500$
★ Bayonet Sapphire (Factory New) B/O 4500$
★ AWP Medusa (Well-Worn) B/O 1850$
★ AWP Fade (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ AK-47 Gold Arabesque (Battle-Scarred) B/O 1680$
★ Bowie Knife Emerald (Factory New) B/O 1235$
★ Bowie Knife Sapphire (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ Sport Gloves Omega (Minimal Wear) B/O 1150$
★ M4A4 Eye of Horus (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ Butterfly Knife Case Hardened (Minimal Wear) B/O 925$
★ M9 Bayonet Lore (Field-Tested) B/O 895$
★ Karambit Crimson Web (Field-Tested) B/O 735$
★ Shadow Daggers Emerald (Factory New) B/O 720$
★ StatTrak™ Butterfly Knife Freehand (Well-Worn) B/O 700$
★ AK-47 X-Ray (Field-Tested) B/O 635$
★ M4A1-S Imminent Danger (Battle-Scarred) B/O 525$
★ Stiletto Knife Doppler Phase 1 & 3 (Factory New) B/O 582$
★ M9 Bayonet Blue Steel (Field-Tested) B/O 570$
★ Butterfly Knife Urban Masked (Field-Tested) B/O 522$
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched (Field-Tested) B/O 512$
★ Butterfly Knife Forest DDPAT (Field-Tested) B/O 510$
★ Bowie Knife Doppler Phase 1 (Factory New) B/O 435$
★ Talon Knife Case Hardened Blue Gem (Well-Worn) B/O 1810$
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 375$
★ M9 Bayonet Scorched (Field-Tested) B/O 358$
★ M9 Bayonet Forest DDPAT (Field-Tested) B/O 355$
★ Huntsman Knife Marble Fade (Factory New) B/O 350$
★ Moto Gloves Polygon (Minimal Wear) B/O 340$
★ Falchion Knife Marble Fade (Factory New) B/O 300$
★ Shadow Daggers Fade (Factory New) B/O 280$
★ Falchion Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 245$
★ Gut Knife Doppler Phase 3 (Factory New) B/O 195$
★ Gut Knife Autotronic (Minimal Wear) B/O 178$
★ Navaja Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 150$
Have more items that are not listed here, check my inventory if u want and hit me up if you`re interested!
submitted by SpRaY123123 to GlobalOffensiveTrade [link] [comments]
📷Store
Accepting csgo skins only.
Tradelink : https://steamcommunity.com/tradeoffenew/?partner=123980288&token=5OeD13Oi
Profile : https://steamcommunity.com/id/SpRaYeRRRR
Items B/O :
★ AWP Dragon Lore (Battle-Scarred) B/O 4250$
★ AWP Gungnir (Battle-Scarred) B/O 6500$
★ Bayonet Sapphire (Factory New) B/O 4500$
★ AWP Medusa (Well-Worn) B/O 1850$
★ AWP Fade (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ AK-47 Gold Arabesque (Battle-Scarred) B/O 1680$
★ Bowie Knife Emerald (Factory New) B/O 1235$
★ Bowie Knife Sapphire (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ Sport Gloves Omega (Minimal Wear) B/O 1150$
★ M4A4 Eye of Horus (Factory New) B/O 1200$
★ Butterfly Knife Case Hardened (Minimal Wear) B/O 925$
★ M9 Bayonet Lore (Field-Tested) B/O 895$
★ Karambit Crimson Web (Field-Tested) B/O 735$
★ Shadow Daggers Emerald (Factory New) B/O 720$
★ StatTrak™ Butterfly Knife Freehand (Well-Worn) B/O 700$
★ AK-47 X-Ray (Field-Tested) B/O 635$
★ M4A1-S Imminent Danger (Battle-Scarred) B/O 525$
★ Stiletto Knife Doppler Phase 1 & 3 (Factory New) B/O 582$
★ M9 Bayonet Blue Steel (Field-Tested) B/O 570$
★ Butterfly Knife Urban Masked (Field-Tested) B/O 522$
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched (Field-Tested) B/O 512$
★ Butterfly Knife Forest DDPAT (Field-Tested) B/O 510$
★ Bowie Knife Doppler Phase 1 (Factory New) B/O 435$
★ Talon Knife Case Hardened Blue Gem (Well-Worn) B/O 1810$
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 375$
★ M9 Bayonet Scorched (Field-Tested) B/O 358$
★ M9 Bayonet Forest DDPAT (Field-Tested) B/O 355$
★ Huntsman Knife Marble Fade (Factory New) B/O 350$
★ Moto Gloves Polygon (Minimal Wear) B/O 340$
★ Falchion Knife Marble Fade (Factory New) B/O 300$
★ Shadow Daggers Fade (Factory New) B/O 280$
★ Falchion Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 245$
★ Gut Knife Doppler Phase 3 (Factory New) B/O 195$
★ Gut Knife Autotronic (Minimal Wear) B/O 178$
★ Navaja Knife Tiger Tooth (Factory New) B/O 150$
Have more items that are not listed here, check my inventory if u want and hit me up if you`re interested!
2024.05.15 20:01 Altruistic-Air6104 Answer choice
Recent test takers
Are the answer choices on the real exam easy or are they like 2 options which are very close? I’ve faced some questions in NBMEs where 2 options were very close to the question and ended up picking the wrong one in many instances
Thanks in advance
submitted by Altruistic-Air6104 to Step2 [link] [comments]
Are the answer choices on the real exam easy or are they like 2 options which are very close? I’ve faced some questions in NBMEs where 2 options were very close to the question and ended up picking the wrong one in many instances
Thanks in advance
2024.05.15 20:01 Melodic-Job-9154 I got 85% when I combined my general test and English marks. Will I be able to get into EFLU for BA English ? Pls answer
submitted by Melodic-Job-9154 to CUETards [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 19:59 ObeyHypnotoad Got soil test results. Do I apply 5-10-5 repeatedly, or just once and then follow with exclusively nitrogen fertilizer?
I just got the results of my soil test back for my hybrid bermuda lawn, zone 8a. The test shows that I'm quite low on phosphorus, and on the low end of the optimal range for potassium. The test recommends 20 lbs per 1,000 sqft of 5-10-5 fertilizer.
Based on my research, it sounds like K and P are consumed far more slowly than N. And I see people on this subreddit recommending fertilizing multiple times per growing season, e.g. once a month. So my question is if I fertilize once a month, do I use the same 5-10-5 mix every time? Or do I just use the 5-10-5 once, and then for subsequent applications, I switch to a purely nitrogen fertilizer? I feel like switching is the way to go in order to avoid overloading my soil with K and P, but I couldn't find any definitive answers online.
submitted by ObeyHypnotoad to lawncare [link] [comments]
Based on my research, it sounds like K and P are consumed far more slowly than N. And I see people on this subreddit recommending fertilizing multiple times per growing season, e.g. once a month. So my question is if I fertilize once a month, do I use the same 5-10-5 mix every time? Or do I just use the 5-10-5 once, and then for subsequent applications, I switch to a purely nitrogen fertilizer? I feel like switching is the way to go in order to avoid overloading my soil with K and P, but I couldn't find any definitive answers online.
2024.05.15 19:57 Choanoflagellates Evaluating ChatGPT 4's Solutions for a Failed Print: Your Thoughts?
TL;DR: Had a failed print (see image) and sought solutions online. Used ChatGPT 4's new image interpretation features, combined with a lot of context, for help. Wondering if its advice is reliable enough to fix the issue. What are your thoughts?
After a failed print, I tried to find the solution using YouTube and Reddit. Although I now know a bit more, I still have my doubts and am not sure what to adjust. With the arrival of ChatGPT 4 and the program's improved image interpretation capabilities, I decided to use AI first before asking you.
Below you can read the interaction I had. There I also describe what the problem is. I have a certain opinion about the generated answers, but I will not share it (yet) to keep this ''test'' as objective as possible. In the question that I ask, I've added this photo showing the problem. I got the excellent design from Thingiverse.
My question to you is: what do you think of these answers? Are the proposed solutions correct? Will they make the print successful? Or is the technology still not there yet and is ChatGPT still too unreliable? I look forward to hearing from you!
submitted by Choanoflagellates to resinprinting [link] [comments]
After a failed print, I tried to find the solution using YouTube and Reddit. Although I now know a bit more, I still have my doubts and am not sure what to adjust. With the arrival of ChatGPT 4 and the program's improved image interpretation capabilities, I decided to use AI first before asking you.
Below you can read the interaction I had. There I also describe what the problem is. I have a certain opinion about the generated answers, but I will not share it (yet) to keep this ''test'' as objective as possible. In the question that I ask, I've added this photo showing the problem. I got the excellent design from Thingiverse.
My question to you is: what do you think of these answers? Are the proposed solutions correct? Will they make the print successful? Or is the technology still not there yet and is ChatGPT still too unreliable? I look forward to hearing from you!
> ### User's Original Message
Apparently, you can provide a lot of accurate information about the possible causes of my problem. I am going to ask you again about preventing a model from sticking halfway to the FEP sheet. Using the following additional info on top of this knowledge should help you generate a correct and suitable solution, and ensure I can trust your advice.
I have an Elegoo Saturn, I use the standard gray resin of the same brand, and I slice with the program Chitubox. I use these settings. They always work, except when the model I want to make is large (yet fitting within the printer's limits), then parts often stick to the FEP sheet.
The settings used via Chitubox:
Dimensions of the model I want to print:
- Layer Height: 0.050 mm
- Bottom Layer Count: 5
- Exposure time: 2.850 s
- Bottom Exposure Time: 30 s
- Transition Layer Count: 3
- Bottom Lift Distance: 7.00 mm
- Lifting Distance: 7.00 mm
- Bottom Lift Speed: 45.0 mm/min
- Lifting Speed: 45.0 mm/min
- Bottom Retract Speed: 180 mm/min
- Retract Speed: 180 mm/min
Perhaps most telling for finding a working solution is a photo of the problem. A very short description: We see a hollow model with supports. The model is perfectly attached to the base. Drip holes are also provided because it is hollowed out. At one-third of the print, you can clearly see that something has happened because there is a horizontal cut. This is not according to the model. On the FEP sheet, parts of the supports are stuck and can be felt with a stir stick. The amount of resin in the resin container was low but not empty. There was a thin layer. The temperature of the room in which the printer was located was constantly at 21 degrees Celsius.
- X: 135 mm
- Y: 71 mm
- Z: 180 mm
The question now is: how could this have been prevented? What solutions do you propose based on all this information?
Translated Response
Thank you for the detailed information and the photo. With all the data in mind, we can conduct a more focused analysis of the problem and possible solutions.
Problem Analysis
Based on the provided information and the photo, there are several potential causes for the issue where part of the print sticks to the FEP sheet. Here are some possible causes and solutions:
1. **Insufficient Resin Level**
**Cause:** Although there seemed to be enough resin, a low resin level can cause issues with larger prints. This can lead to incomplete curing of the layers.
**Solution:**
- Ensure there is always enough resin in the vat, especially for larger prints. Fill the vat to the recommended level before starting the print.
2. **Insufficient Support for Large Prints**
**Cause:** Large prints may require more or stronger support structures to remain stable during printing.
**Solution:**
- Add more support structures in Chitubox, especially under the areas that come loose or where a lot of stress occurs.
- Consider increasing the thickness and density of the supports.
3. **Exposure Time Settings**
**Cause:** The exposure time of 2.85 seconds may be too short for larger prints, especially with a layer height of 0.05 mm.
**Solution:**
- Increase the exposure time for regular layers to, for example, 3.5 seconds and test again.
- Gradually increase the exposure time to see if this improves adhesion.
4. **Mechanical Stress from Rapid Movements**
**Cause:** The lift and retract speeds may be too high, causing mechanical stress and potential detachment of the print.
**Solution:**
- Reduce the lift and retract speeds. For example:
- Bottom Lift Speed: 30 mm/min
- Lifting Speed: 30 mm/min
- Bottom Retract Speed: 120 mm/min
- Retract Speed: 120 mm/min
5. **Issues with the FEP Sheet**
**Cause:** Dirty, damaged, or worn FEP sheets can cause problems with resin release.
**Solution:**
- Check and replace the FEP sheet if it is damaged.
- Clean the FEP sheet thoroughly before each print with isopropyl alcohol.
6. **Support Structures Incorrectly Placed**
**Cause:** The placement of the support structures may be incorrect, causing certain parts of the print to come loose.
**Solution:**
- Place the supports strategically at critical points of the model to ensure proper support.
- Use the auto-support generation function in Chitubox and manually adjust as needed.
7. **Build Plate Leveling**
**Cause:** Although the first layers adhere well, subtle misleveling can cause issues later in the print.
**Solution:**
- Recheck and level the build plate to ensure it is perfectly flat.
Conclusion
Based on your description and the photo, the primary adjustments seem to be:
By addressing these factors, you can increase the chances of a successful print and prevent parts of the print from sticking to the FEP sheet.
- Ensure sufficient resin in the vat.
- Increase the exposure time for regular layers.
- Add more and stronger support structures.
- Reduce the lift and retract speeds.
- Regularly check and clean the FEP sheet.
- Recheck the build plate leveling.
2024.05.15 19:54 Accomplished-Cow2717 Father DNA drama
I don't even know how to start this..
I'll try keep it simple as this will be 1 of millions of stories I have to tell eventually.
I (31f) grew up most my life thinking my "1st dad" was my bio dad, he passed when I was 14 (we weren't close, he was a junkie and I hardly ever seen him) I had to close the lid on his coffin, I helped carry him, I helped plan his funeral and everything that came with it. He's in my birth cert, I legally have his last name and even have it tattooed on me. (this adds a bit of context somewhat)..
Fast forward to my 21st birthday, and my NM decided it was the perfect time to "joke" about how my 1st dad might not even be my dad 🤦 I'm hard headed so I instantly started pushing for more info and wondering wtf she was playing at.
She eventually gave me a name of who she thought could possible my Father, I got in contact with him and his now ex wife(there's stories about her too) and we got the process of DNA testing started..
Shock horror, "1st dad" wasn't my bio dad, when "2nd dad" called me with the DNA results I was incredibly overwhelmed, scared and confused as anyone would be..
My NMs reaction when I told her?? " Why are you crying I always told you 1st dad might not be your bio dad" (she never EVER mentioned it before in my entire life even though she'll argue til she's blue in the face that she did tell me)...
She still to this day swears she had always told me that there was a chance but a lot of things over the years that she swears happened or didn't happen I found to be lies so I trust nothing she says anymore.
Since then me and 2nd dad have had an amazing relationship, considering he went from no bio kids, a wife and 2 step kids to no wife or step kids and a 21yr old daughter he handled it like a champ.. his family have accepted and loved me since the day the DNA results came back.. we just all wish we got that first 21 years together too.
Sorry if this is long winded or if anything doesn't quite make sense, I'll happily answer any questions within reason and explain further if needed
submitted by Accomplished-Cow2717 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]
I'll try keep it simple as this will be 1 of millions of stories I have to tell eventually.
I (31f) grew up most my life thinking my "1st dad" was my bio dad, he passed when I was 14 (we weren't close, he was a junkie and I hardly ever seen him) I had to close the lid on his coffin, I helped carry him, I helped plan his funeral and everything that came with it. He's in my birth cert, I legally have his last name and even have it tattooed on me. (this adds a bit of context somewhat)..
Fast forward to my 21st birthday, and my NM decided it was the perfect time to "joke" about how my 1st dad might not even be my dad 🤦 I'm hard headed so I instantly started pushing for more info and wondering wtf she was playing at.
She eventually gave me a name of who she thought could possible my Father, I got in contact with him and his now ex wife(there's stories about her too) and we got the process of DNA testing started..
Shock horror, "1st dad" wasn't my bio dad, when "2nd dad" called me with the DNA results I was incredibly overwhelmed, scared and confused as anyone would be..
My NMs reaction when I told her?? " Why are you crying I always told you 1st dad might not be your bio dad" (she never EVER mentioned it before in my entire life even though she'll argue til she's blue in the face that she did tell me)...
She still to this day swears she had always told me that there was a chance but a lot of things over the years that she swears happened or didn't happen I found to be lies so I trust nothing she says anymore.
Since then me and 2nd dad have had an amazing relationship, considering he went from no bio kids, a wife and 2 step kids to no wife or step kids and a 21yr old daughter he handled it like a champ.. his family have accepted and loved me since the day the DNA results came back.. we just all wish we got that first 21 years together too.
Sorry if this is long winded or if anything doesn't quite make sense, I'll happily answer any questions within reason and explain further if needed
2024.05.15 19:54 Hopeful_Crab7912 AMA I grade standardized tests for students around the US.
I know people are probably curious about education in America. We are finishing up grading over the next couple of weeks. If you’re curious about the grading process or how kids are scoring ask away. I cannot share any specific answers or screenshots of tests so keep that in mind!
submitted by Hopeful_Crab7912 to AMA [link] [comments]