Previous post: https://www.reddit.com/valvereplacement/comments/1363zn2/surgery_in_2_weeks/
Bio: male, early 30s, bicuspid aortic valve, severe aortic regurgitation, severe 6.9cm LVEDD, 3.5cm mild ascending aorta aneurysm, no symptoms other than a significant heart murmur and a visible bounding pulse in my neck. I had the David procedure done, which is an open heart surgery where they repair the aortic valve and replace the aorta root with a synthetic graft. The native valve is placed inside the graft.
Day before surgery: I spent the day hanging out with my wife and daughter. My parents also flew in the night before to help take care of my kid while my wife and I would be in the hospital. I'm quite fortunate to have had essentially no anxiety leading up to the day. From my point of view, I didn't really have to do much of anything so there was nothing to be anxious about :) I tend to only get anxious before a performance or presentation or things like that where I'm responsible for executing something.
Before bed, I washed with the special antibacterial soap and we changed the bed sheets, pillow cases, and my PJs. Chugged a good liter of water before going to bed.
Day of surgery: Woke up at 4:30am. Showered again with the special antibacterial soap. Said bye to my parents and drove with my wife to the hospital for 6am check-in. The surgery itself would start at 8am. They called my up at around 7am to start prep. I hugged my wife in the waiting area and followed the nurse into the pre-op area where they shaved my chest and legs, wiped me down with some antiseptic wipes, and placed an IV. I waited for about 30 minutes once I was prepped, mostly browsing reddit on my phone and sending funny faces to my wife since I was wearing a dorky shower cap thing, before a team of 2 anesthesiologists came and confirmed all the details about the procedure. They wheeled me off into the OR. The last thing I remember is an anesthesiologist apologizing for all the "stickers" (ECG electrodes I think?) they were putting on me. I have no memory of them starting the anesthesia itself (like the mask or IV; no memory of counting down from 5 or anything like that).
A blink of an eye later, I had teleported to the ICU and woke up with a breathing tube, 3 chest tubes, a Foley cather, and like 3-4 more IVs and arterial lines that I had no memory of (left wrist, right wrist, right elbow, right side of the neck, possibly left elbow? Can't recall). It was slightly uncomfortable but absolutely no pain at all. The most uncomfortable thing was that the breathing machine seemed to have its own cadence for breathing and I wanted to breath my own way. I asked them to remove it but the ICU nurse said it was still too early and they wanted to wait another couple of hours. I was still pretty out of it and I'm pretty sure I was falling asleep here and there. My wife told me that the surgeon had come by and said the surgery went very well, and they were able to repair my valve. There was still some mild regurgitation remaining apparently, but nothing to worry about.
That evening, they removed the breathing tube and I had a bit more awareness. The anesthesia was wearing off and I was starting to feel pain in my lungs, which turned out to be from the chest tubes. Initially it wasn't too bad but over the next couple of days it got quite painful if I ever tried to take a deep breath. So I was taking quite shallow breaths and didn't really want to use the incentive spirometer
Woke up in the middle of the night with severe pain in my right lung and summoned my nurse, who administered dilaudid through my IV and it quickly got better.
Day 2: I was surprised to learn that the pain meds weren't scheduled, and they would only administer them if I asked for it. I was approved for 650mg Tylenol every 6 hours, 10mg oxycodone every 6 hours, and some amount (can't recall) of dilaudid and gabapentin. My recommendation would be to set some timers to ask for the pain meds on a regular cadence to avoid it getting out of hand. My right lung was by far the worst, spiking up to 7-8 on the pain scale whenever I took a deep breath, and holding at 3-4 during shallow breaths. No real pain anywhere else, including the incision.
One of the medicines they administered twice was a day was a Heparin shot, which reduces blood clots. It has to be administered subcutaneously which I found to be quite painful, and I grew to look forward the least to this medication. They also had me on metoprolol for blood pressure.
Around mid-day, they removed the Foley catheter which I would miss -- it was quite nice not to have to worry about urination. They had me get up for the first time, drink some chicken broth, and get weighed. I had gained 16lbs in fluids (160lbs -> 176lbs) so they started me on lasix to eliminate some of that. A PT guy came and had me walk to the neighboring unit and back (about 1 minute of walking) and told me to start practicing my incentive spirometer. I wasn't able to get it any higher than 500 before my right lung would start to hurt.
Soon after, they said I was ready to move out of the ICU. A transport person came, helped me into a wheel chair, and wheeled me off. I settled into the new room. Someone came to take some chest X rays with a mobile X ray machine. It shows I had a mild pneumothorax in my right lung; maybe that was why it was painful. They didn't seem concerned about it and said it would hurt less once the chest tubes came out.
Day 3: One of the chest tubes seemed to be done draining, so they came to remove it. It honestly wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. They had me exhale and hum while they pulled it out in one go. Took about 3 seconds and felt funny, but no pain. My right lung pain immediately got better. I was suddenly able to breath a lot deeper than before and was getting my incentive spirometer up to 1000.
After this point, I never really experienced much pain ever again. Except for the god damn Heparin shots.
I kept drinking chicken broth and apple juice as my only source of calories, and the lasix were in full effect at this point so I was getting up every couple of hours to pee. I was something like 168lbs at this point (lost 8lbs of fluids).
I did 3 walks around the nurse station. About 5 minutes each. Had my first bowel movement somewhere around here. By evening time, my doctor cleared me for a regular diet and I ordered a bunch of fruits and a barley soup.
Getting in and out of bed was a chore -- I had to get help from a nurse every time. It took a good 5 minutes to organize all the tubes every time.
Day 4: The other 2 chest tubes came out, and also the pacing wires. Again no pain, just feels strange and ticklish. Easily tolerable. I suddenly had a ton more freedom. Without the chest tubes, I no longer needed the nurse to get in and out of bed. Tried to get in a couple of longer 10 minute walks, but it was definitely a lot harder. My heart rate would go up to 130 and I would need to go back to bed and lie down to get it back under 100.
I also noticed that sitting upright in a chair and eating food would also spike my heart rate, up into the 120s. I would be a little bit out of breath after eating and would need to lie down.
At mid day, they wheeled me off to get my first post-op echocardiogram. The echo results were very surprising: it showed mild-to-moderate regurgitation, and a completely normal LV size -- 4.5cm LVEDD. My surgeon's PA came by to talk about it, and said that the surgeon disagrees with the echo tech's interpretation of the images and would still classify it as mild regurgitation. More importantly, during surgery when direct visual inspection is possible, it apparently looked quite good. They think once the lasix fully drain me of all the excess fluid, there will be less regurgitation. I asked if it's really possible for the LV to shrink so dramatically in just 4 days (6.9cm to 4.5cm) and she said yep, and in fact it's a sign that the valve is working well. I think I wont really find closure on this until my next echo which is probably many months away so I'm putting it out of mind.
They did say they would switch me from metoprolol to hydralazine, which also reduces blood pressure but has the side effect of increasing the heart rate. Apparently a faster heart rate would be good in my situation to help the valve heal (I guess because faster heart rate = lower volume of blood that is pumped?).
To my surprise, the PA said they were going to discharge me ahead of schedule since I met all the necessary criteria. My blood pressure was pretty steady at around 120/80. I was a bit conflicted since it felt safe at the hospital, but I also did not want any more god damn Heparin shots so I agreed to go home.
At home, I had a wedge pillow but it was a royal PITA to get in and out of bed so I impulse ordered an power lift chair rental which they dropped off the next day.
Day 5: The lift chair arrived, which was amazing. I no longer needed help from my family to get in and out of a horizontal position. I did find that it was important to be horizontal to get my heart rate under control with the hydralazine. Lying completely flat, I was at 100 BPM. Sitting up would take me to 110. Eating would get me to 120 and walking would get me to 130. I would need to go lie down after eating or walking to catch my breath and get my heart rate down.
I went for my first outside walk, where I walked about 4 houses down and back (5 minutes).
I took my first shower sitting on a shower stool. I was very cold after -- probably another side effect of the hydralazine as well -- and struggled to warm back up in bed. I was shivering and was worried for a bit whether I had an infection, but my temperature was normal so I think I was just cold.
My appetite wasn't very good and didn't want to eat what my family had cooked for me. I preferred cold, sweet things and ate a lot of honey net cheerios with cold milk.
I filled my hydralazine in oxycodone prescription, and picked up some tylenol as well. I used the oxy once on day 5, and didn't find the need for it after. I was able to get by just fine with tylenol.
Day 6-10: More of the same. Appetite got a lot better and started eating normally. By day 10, I was able to slowly walk a good 15 minutes in one go, about .5 miles. Around this time I also stopped using the lift chair and was able to get in and out of bed solo without too much difficulty. I also no longer needed the shower stool. It was a bit of a regret to spend a bunch of money on the stool, wedge pillow, and lift chair only to use them for 3-4 days, but they did make those few days quite a bit easier so I'm convincing myself it was money well spent.
Day 11-14: Rapid improvement -- on day 14 I was able to walk 1 mile in 20 minutes, and did it 3 times that day. Heart rate is down to 90 at rest now, and eating doesn't really increase it much. I feel good enough to go back to work honestly (just a desk job, and can work from home). I was half thinking I should try jogging, but I have cardiac therapy starting in a couple of weeks so I'll save my energy for that.
I'm still on the hydralazine and tylenol. I have essentially no pain as long as I'm maintaining the sternal precautions. I'm considering stopping the tylenol to see how it goes.
All in all, I have to say it was a pretty smooth experience and wasn't that bad at all. It seems like it's not completely unlikely that I'll need another surgery in the far future, though hopefully it's at least 15-20 years away. But if it's going to be anything like this, then I really have nothing to worry about. My wife tore her ACL in a skiing accident a few years ago and I have to say the recovery from ACL reconstruction surgery was a lot harder than this!

I've posted a lot of versions of this in comments and it's my OC however I feel it needs a post of its own for people who are struggling. Whether that be mental health, sexuality, life worries or anything. This one is for everyone, so feel free to send it to someone who may need it even if they haven't said as much.
You're struggling now but look at your past struggles and just assess them for a minute. You have faced, and won, every single battle that life has sent your way. You know how I know that? Because you're still here. Still fighting. Take a moment to look back at your past battles. Go on, take a moment and reflect on them. You can pick up HERE once you've had a minute to assess them.
You see all those daemons you've defeated? Did you see each and every challenge that has ever been put in front of you? Notice that they're BEHIND you now? That is because you have come through them and that means that you are AWESOME. You have left legions of daemons broken and vanquished in your wake, some of those daemons were created by your own psyche. Your own mind that knows EVERY vulnerability and hidden fear that you possess and you have STILL beaten them and got to this point. That is not something easily accomplished but you have.
Now you're facing this new challenge and what? You're going to let this be the one that defeats you? The one that makes you tap out and give up? You're telling me that THIS is going to be what finally breaks you? No, I didn't think so either. Compared to all that other shit you've just looked back on this next battle is like a teletubby holding a wet dandelion. You have come through so, SO much and to think that whatever life throws at you now can even trouble you is a ludicrous notion and I won't have it.
You may have battled with addiction, your sexuality, mental health issues, physical health issues, employment struggles, money worries, trauma, housing challenges, social and familial trouble, legal challenges, heartache, heartbreak, loss, longing or even just the fact that they don't make great rock music like they used to after the turn of the century (yes I know, I'm old) but you battled them and the very fact that you're reading this means that you've WON!
I'm Germanic Pagan (think Norse with slightly different names) and I'll tell you this now there is a seat in Valhalla or Folkvangr for you. The Valkyries don't come for those that lose their battles, they come for those who stand and fight them rather than turning and hiding. Any fool can have a fight with someone else but the battles that take true courage are the ones you've already won. The daemons you've already beaten. Woden (Odin) and Freya cannot wait to hear your tales of how you found your inner strength but you won't be telling them for many years to come, and in time the great heroes of the ages will toast and roar to hear more about how you overcame not mere mortals but the trials life placed before you.
Now, let's get back to this teletubby in the room shall we? This latest issue that life has dared throw at you. I don't need to know what it is I just know that compared to what you've already overcome this is nothing more than an annoying children's character holding a rapidly drooping weed. This isn't going to be what breaks you, it's nothing more than an inconvenience compared to what you've already bested. Show me whoever told you life was easy or fair and I'll show you a barefaced liar who needs a high five to the face and I'm not saying this is going to be easy. I'm saying you've come through worse so to give in to this...this... Quite frankly this insult of a challenge would be beneath you and you know it, even if you don't always believe it. Well you're going to start believing it because the next time life knocks you down merely stand back up, adjust your hair and clothes just so and politely inform life that it clearly has no idea just who it is messing with. Glance and the vanquished daemons behind you then look that purple bastard in the eye and watch it shudder and say "eh oh... Shit" when it realises it's picked the wrong fight.
Whatever this latest battle is you've already got it beat, it just doesn't know it yet. Things may not go how you'd like them to go but I refer you back to tha fairness of life and the facial application of a high five to anyone who would say otherwise but again, you're not going to be beaten by that. It didn't go your way, you're not the kind to give up after a setback because you're STILL fighting. You're STILL moving forwards leaving even more daemons banished in your wake.
Just because it's your battle does NOT mean that you're facing it alone. Ask anyone for help whether it be friends, family, coworkers, professional organisations, the postman Hel, even some aging old sod like me on the other side of a screen. I'm going to be honest here and say I don't care WHO you ask just so long as you ask. We're a social species and whilst a few idiots continue to defy Darwin in that respect the good FAR outweigh the evil in the world.
Now by all means have five minutes to yourself, we all need it now and then but you're only getting five minutes so make it count. Cry, shout, scream, punch a pillow, write as many words that would make your mother blush as you can in five minutes then throw it in the bin. Whatever it is that works for you do it but you only get five minutes. After that dry your eyes (I personally cry like a newborn but that's just me), put the pillow back on the bed/sofa and do what you do best. Make the world a little more fabulous than it was yesterday. If you're really in a "sod it" mood then do something a little different to claim the day for yourself. Try a new hairstyle or wear that outfit that makes you feel invincible (we've all got one, don't deny it), play your music extra loud in your headphones and imagine belting it out on stage with thousands of people screaming for more. Flirt with your partner like you're teenagers again or do something to melt their heart. One of their favourite flowers 'just because' or order their favourite takeaway. Perform a random act of kindness for a stranger and do so whilst unashamedly being your fabulously awesome self.
Whatever it is that you're struggling with you got this, and we've got your back. You'll never walk alone.

Can’t focus on my studying due to a slip-up at work today. “I thought this was something that was worked out months ago”, a QA told me after me admitting to my mistake. He wasn’t mean, but I was just really embarrassed and felt like an idiot. Guess you could call me hypersensitive to the criticism. The mistake: I mistook an area of counting stock for another, and submitted the counts for the wrong area. He approached me after being confused with my submission and my mistake didn’t become apparent until after I stumbled to understand what he was asking me. I was totally convinced I had done it correctly until I re-read the assignment. The quote above stung as it was referencing the training done by my peers. Meaning this was something I should have known for a while now. But to be frank, it was just an honest mistake. The assigned work areas are very similar and my mind somehow made the wrong connection. It was clear I’m a dumbass and I hate that I keep giving others that impression. I feel like whenever I make a mistake at work, it’s a major blow to my sense of worth. That I’m useless. I’ve been working here for 7 months and I constantly feel like the most stupid person ever. I really care about the quality of my work, but things like this just convinces me I don’t deserve to be seen as anywhere near competent. Feels like people look down on me, as if everybody else is above me. It doesn’t help that my self-esteem hits the floor and anybody who interacts with me at work can tell. I wish these little remarks didn’t hurt as much, but they do. I know I’m overthinking everything, so sorry. Just wanted to vent.

Just saying I never read the books, so I don't know if they discuss this topic or if its addressed, so correct me if you want.
I'm probably really late to this kind of post, but I just finished the movie, and really wanted to discuss just how messed up the school for good and evil, is and not in the "oh, the villains are treated terribly whilst the good are treated nicely, so they're forcing the evil ones to be evil" no, it goes a lot deeper, especially with the "failed kids".
Fore those unaware, when you fail three times in the school, you are considered "a failure" this causes you too disappear (painfully as it would seem from Gregor's failing) and to be remade into something else, such as a bird or a lake of fishes, but can we discuss the fact that there would be an unimaginable number of kids who have "failed" in this school?
As we know, Gregor became a carrier bird, aka a bird who transports new students to the school, so is every bird a failed student? if so then that's messed up, but then also the lake of wish fish are apparently multiple fishes, at first I thought one fish was a student, which in itself is messed up, but it turns out to be one amalgamation of a little girl, which in a way is even more messed up, we're never told who she is, except one: she's way younger than the other students, so was she an early student or did they accept littler kids into the program before? and two: after she "failed" she was turned into fish and used by the faculty too basically cast visions of wishes for other students, the dean for good claims its just "kids who can never get a story but can be part of another persons story" you're telling me that this school, who has been teaching kids since the beginning of time, has kidnapped students (you could argue they wished to come, but realistically if I wished to go to space and was suddenly whisked into a space program for Mars I would have my doubts immediately like anyone else) made them either good or evil, and if you fail, you're just trapped in the school forever, whilst those who graduate just go off to make their own stories, and never talk about the school that takes children? that's messed up (I hate to keep using that word but that's the best way I can describe this)
One more thing to note is that these kids can still die, Gregor is killed and Agatha questions what no one else thinks to question "why are you doing this to good people? or just people in general" and this is the same mindset as me, what the heck?! So yeah that's all I have to say, B- movie, messed up plot, terrible cast, and overall meh.

Statemeant of, Estella Freeman, regarding her experiences during an audition for a film rendition of Macbeth. Original Statement given on November 21, 2008. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins
I appreciate your discretion. I could tell you recognized me the moment I sat down. I'm sure you can appreciate what an actress of my caliber has to deal with whenever I interact with the public. It can be nauseating, people swooning over you asking for an autograph or a picture or what have you. I’ve been an actress for almost 30 years and I can tell you it's really refreshing whenever I can find a moment to just be with other people and not have to talk about what your next big role is going to be, or how I was able to give such a performance in Destiny Walked North.
You're no doubt acquainted with many of my films, A Passage to Burma,, In Search of Sunrise, and of course everyone's favorite, Destiny Walked North. Oh but you don't want to hear me talk about all that. Sigh,but then I suppose I do have to tell you about the little misunderstanding concerning one of my recent auditions. Look, I'm only agreeing to give this statement because my younger sister, Cathrine, insisted I talk to you and threatened to go to the tabloids if I didn't. It really is all just a bit of unpleasant nonsense I can assure you.
The audition in question was an upcoming film version of Shakespeare's Macbeth, directed by Dexter Banks. Dexter had decided he wanted to do a modern rendition of the play and had asked me to audition for the part of Lady Macbeth. Now I don't normally do Shakespeare. I find it the droll labor of lesser theater actors but Dexters a friend and I always try to help whenever I can so I agreed to the audition.
The scene in question is the well known sleepwalking scene that opens act 5 of the play. In it, Lady Macbeth is seen sleepwalking and delivers a powerful monologue wherein her guilt is laid to bare. The audition itself was done as a series of three takes which were all performed and recorded on a small set built to look like the interior of a modern day estate.
Everything started off fine. I had already delivered two flawless takes but Dexter had been unsatisfied. He said that my guilt did not appear genuine and suggested I try and find a memory to draw from for the final take. Now as I mentioned, I’ve been acting for 30 years and I dont need some director, friend or not, telling me how to get into character. Still, I didn't want to make a big deal about it and acquiesced to trying Dexter's way.
So that's what I did. It took a few moments but I suddenly remembered an incident from my childhood. I was about 10 or 11 at the time. One day while mum was out, I had taken some of her makeup to try on. You have to understand at that age I had started becoming interested in looking and dressing like a real woman and not some little girl. Anyway I knew it would make mum furious were she to catch me. I must have spent an hour meticulously applying the primer then foundation, followed by blush, eyeliner, and of course la touche finale: mums ruby red lipstick. Now at some point during all this I must have lost track of time for no sooner had I finished applying the lipstick when I heard the sound of mum’s fumbling with the front latch. I knew there would be no time to properly put back all the cosmetics and clean my face. I was certain I would be caught when I had the sudden idea. I quickly gathered up all the cosmetics and dumped them into my younger sister Cathrine’s room then locked myself in the privy just as mum entered the house.
Needless to say my little scheme had worked perfectly for it was not but a few minutes more when I could hear mum angrily shouting at Catherine. By the time I had cleaned my face and emerged I found my little sister sobbing in the corner.
Sigh, but of course I could barely go a whole day with all that guilt and I eventually confessed. Mum was…well she was pretty tough and lets just say I got what was coming to me.
And so I concentrated on that moment and when Dexter yelled action I began that final take. I put everything I had into that take. The moment when Lady Macbeth looks at her hands for fear of stained blood, I imagined the red stain of my mother's lipstick and thought about the cries my sister had made when mum had throttled her.
At the scene's culmination I made a spontaneous decision to improvise. The scene normally requires Lady Macbeth to exit the stage but I choose instead to throw myself on the floor in dramatic fashion. And so I screamed “What's done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed!” and fell to the floor, eyes closed. I lay there for a few moments waiting for Dexter to yell cut but… there was nothing. At first I thought that perhaps my performance had just stunned him and so I waited for a few more moments but still… nothing. Then I opened my eyes to the horror of an empty room. Dexter, the entire crew, they all were…gone. I was alone. I thought at first perhaps it was a joke, that the crew had somehow snuck away in those moments where I had closed my eyes but then I realized something else: There was no equipment, no cameras, no light fixtures, no director's chair. It was an empty set. Now it's possible that maybe Dexter and the crew could have slipped away while I was preoccupied with my audition, a practical joke while I was lost in the performance as it may. But there's no way they could have just moved all that equipment in the span of a one minute scene. I began to panic, calling out for Dexter, for anyone to answer, hoping that at any moment someone would pop out and I would realize it was all imagined, a hallucination perhaps. But no one popped out. There were no responses. No surprises or jokes. Just the sound of my own voice echoing off the walls.
And then I realized something else, something that truly terrified me: I was no longer standing on a small set but in the actual room itself. What I mean is that, as I said before, the set had been constructed to look like part of a room in a modern day estate, it even had a small fireplace for Lady Macbeth to warm her hands by during the scene. The set had been no more than 8 or 9 meters long at most but this…this was an entire room, not a set at all. What I might have called panic moments before had now coalesced into utter terror. I ran to one of the doors and found it opened into a hallway, one typical of any other house of this type, and like most hallways, I could see it led to other rooms. I moved forward down the corridor carefully. A bathroom on the right, a bedroom on the left, another bedroom, and further down, the hallway led into a formal sitting room. This was a house, just like the setting of Dexter's film. I cried out again, begging for someone, anyone to answer, but still nothing.
Then I heard something: A distinct whistle coming from somewhere not far away. I rushed back down the way I came, this time turning down an adjacent hallway toward the sound and emerged into what was clearly the kitchen. And sure enough there, on the stove, sat a steaming tea kettle over the soft glow of the stove's flame. “I know you're there!”, I called out. Clearly the kettle had been set by someone and whomever they were they were nearby. I could feel it. Like someone nearby was watching. Then suddenly I heard a loud thump, back toward the sitting room I had just left. I ran back and found that a fire now burned in the fireplace: The thump I heard was the sound of a smoldering log that had crumbled.
Now I will admit I am not a brave person, and in this particular set of circumstances to say I was terrified would have been an understatement. All the same, I do not enjoy being played with. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, it was clearly someone's idea of a joke. It must have been right? Bolstered by my anger I set out frantically searching the house, flinging open closet doors, searching under beds, all the while screaming, daring my tormentor to reveal themselves. But it was always the same, I would enter rooms that had clear signs of a recent presence: A lit cigarette in an ashtray, a running faucet. I would return to rooms I had left moments before and find objects had moved. A book lay open on a night stand where it had not been 5 minutes before. I started to think I was losing my sanity.
This went on for what seemed like 30 minutes when suddenly I had an impulse. A horrible dread filled me and I rushed over to a window and drew open the curtains. I don't know exactly how to describe what I saw. It looked like the English countryside, but a countryside that had been burned and ravaged beyond comprehension. What might have once been the rolling green hills of Cornwall or Wiltshire were now blackened monoliths of ashen waste. All across were ember colored cracks scared into the earth, littering the landscape like open sores. And when I looked up into that blood red sky where the sun should have been, I saw instead, a viscous orb of the deepest jet. I stared at it, unable to remove my gaze, watching as it would occasionally writhe and pulsate ever so slightly. And when it did, just for a moment, it looked almost like an eye that had blinked, a wretched sentry keeping watch over its wretched wasteland. I screamed. I mean at that point any shred of hope I had that this might be some elaborate hoax or prank was gone. This was a nightmare. A pure terrible nightmare.
It's hard to remember everything that happened next but I recall running through the house in a panic and somehow ending up back in the original room I had found myself in when all this began, the one that matched the set of the film. And when I looked up I saw that there now stood in the center of the room a loan movie camera, mounted on a tripod. It looked just like the ones the crew had used on the set; only this one was unmanned. It was, however , pointed right at me, and I could tell from the faint hum that it was running. We stared at each other for several moments in silence. I say we because I want to make it very clear that this wasn't just a camera, it was….I dunno, the…thing that had been watching me. I was certain. I can't tell you how I knew it but I just did.
Sigh, and then I did the only thing left I could think to do. I slowly, deliberately, got down on my knees, looked right into that camera, and I begged. I begged it to spare me, to show me mercy. To please take pity and absolve my wretched soul of whatever sins I had committed. To witness all the guilt I could lay to bare. But the camera said nothing. It just sat there silently filming, silently watching. I guess I must have collapsed at that point, probably from exhaustion.
When I regained consciousness I was back on the set of the audition, surrounded by Dexter and the rest of the crew. To my surprise everyone was clapping and Dexter was beaming. I thought perhaps it all had been some strange hallucination or day dream and I vaguely remember trying to compose myself before the sudden feeling of everything slipping away.
I assume I had passed out. At least that's what the nurses told me when I woke up in St. Thomas. Something about stress induced psychosis and how I needed to take it easier from now on, and how i wasnt 25 anymore and blah blah blah. I was there for 2 days I think. It doesn't really matter. And I never did get the part. It went to some up and coming twit, you know the one in all the vampire movies. Dexter didn't even bother to call to tell me. The nerve. You know after 5 films, all I've done for him the least that bastard could do was call to tell me he had decided to give the part to some younger harlot he was probably sleeping with.
I haven't done any more auditions. Haven't really got the stomach for it lately. I mean I know I could still get the parts, it's just ...well…I don’t think I could bear to be in front of the cameras. The way they just stare at you, watching, silently taking it all in. I mean I know it was probably all some sorta of stressed induced hallucination or whatever but deep down I don't think it was. You know lately when I am out walking, I stop and look up at the sky, just to check and make sure the sun is still there where it's supposed to be. Anyway I think that's everything
Statement Ends.
Sigh. There's so many things wrong with this statement. Where do I begin? I think the key words here are hallucinations and psychosis. Neither of which forms the foundation for verifiable fact. Then there is the issue of Ms. Freeman’s reliability. A quick IMDB search indicates that Estella Freeman was indeed an actress who appeared in several films including several by renowned director Dexter Banks. However, she was not, as her statement claims, cast in a lead role in any of them. Almost all of her credits are for minor roles, certainly none that would be considered star billing. According to public records that Sasha dug up, Estella Freeman was the oldest of two children born to Robert and Sally Freeman. She did have a younger sister named Catherine but she apparently passed away in an unspecified domestic accident at the age of 7, roughly the time Estella would have been 10 years old. She is listed as having attended the Croydon School of Acting before appearing in several minor film roles over an approximately 25 year period. On October the 13th, 2008 she was admitted to St. Thomas hospital where she was diagnosed and treated for stress induced fatigue and released on her own recognizance after 48 hours. Clearly Ms. Freeman is either suffering from delusions of grandeur or is a pathological liar, but in either case I think this is another dead end. I seem to recall that Dexter Banks appeared in another statement, but given my predecessor's penchant for disorganization, it may be years before I can track down that statement. Still, I’ve asked Martin to keep an eye out for it.
There is one other additional interesting fact. Tim really came through on this one and managed to obtain a copy of Ms. Freeman’s audition tape from that day. I don't know what guy or girl he had to sleep with to get it and I wont bother to ask. I reviewed the tape and it does indeed show Ms. Freeman performing 3 takes of the scene as she described in her statement. The first 2 are uneventful. However during the 3rd take, just as Ms. Freeman goes down on the floor, the tape cuts out to static. When it continues, it appears to show her acting rather hysterically before being assisted off the set by several crew members. Now what's interesting is that the video time stamps indicate only a few seconds elapsed during the time just before and after the cut out but the static itself plays for over 90 minutes. Still, it's not definitive proof of anything “supernatural”. End Recording.
The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill, and licensed under a creative commons attribution noncommercial share alike 4.0 international license. All the characters and settings referenced are the property of Rusty Quill in their entirety.
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The intro: Thank you for clicking. You are the attractive girl at work. You always come to work dolled up and know you catch glances from your co workers. The thought of them lusting after you makes your tiny panties wet. You often wonder if they try and peek under your skirt anytime you bend over slightly…..But you pay them no attention. You are too busy. Instead, you keep your head down and finish the job. You don’t create waves at work. At the end of the day, you leave work only to repeat the same ol same ol the next day. You crave more - to be bred by a dominant man. In fact,
Little does anyone know, you are a closet slut. You crave nothing more than to be used like a fuck toy by a dominant man and get pregnant. You want to be used day after day. You get off on being called a good girl and crave being used in front of your big mirror and told what to do. You want to be slowly stripped in front of your big mirror and slowly edged. The thought of leaving work, heading home, and hearing the lock click on your bedroom door as you prepare to be used makes you drenched; especially when you step in front of your mirror and say “I’m ready daddy, use me as you please”…. In short you are daddy’s “Good girl”…
About me: 40 WM, 6’2”, fairly fit, tan, blonde hair, blue eyes, and currently in NYC. Im a southern transplant and still maintain my southern draw. I’m an attorney and slave to big law by day but my calling is a daddy dom. I crave nothing more than having my good girl. I think about her often as I sit in my office behind closed doors. Outside of work I enjoy a good glass of scotch, shopping for silk ties, and CrossFit. You might have seen me in Central Park running if you go there on Saturdays. I have an extensive tie collection that is arranged like a rainbow (picture Pinterest porn). If you want to know more, just ask…
About you: an attractive female, who enjoys getting dolled up on occasion, and enjoys taking care of herself. You have a hard job and and need to be fulfilled when you get home. You need release and loads of cum. Sexual release.. Your relationship status is of no consequence to me. What happens online stays online. I’m a steel trap. You crave nothing more than to be a good girl, a slut, a perfect fucktoy. You have a big mirror and know how to use it. In sum, you want to hear the words “Good girl”…
Kinks: breeding, orgasm control, light bondage, edging, stripping, getting dolled up in front of the mirror, mirror play, panty play, very slight degradation, role play.
The ending (hopefully happy): I hope my post has piqued your interest and made your panties wet. If it has, please reach out. So I know you read to the end, please tell daddy what color and style of panties you are wearing. I hope to hear from you soon…. crosses fingers

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Production companies : Warner Bros. Pictures.
At San Diego Comic-Con in July, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson had other people raising eyebrows when he said that his long-awaited superhero debut in Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine would be the beginning of “a new era” for the DC Extended Universe naturally followed: What did he mean? And what would that kind of reset mean for the remainder of DCEU's roster, including Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the rest of the Justice League, Suicide Squad, Shazam and so on.As
Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine neared theaters, though, Johnson clarified that statement in a recent sit-down with Yahoo Entertainment (watch above).
“I feel like this is our opportunity now to expand the DC Universe and what we have in Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine, which I think is really cool just as a fan, is we introduce five new superheroes to the world,” Johnson tells us. Aldis Hodge's Hawkman, Noah Centineo's Atom Smasher, Quintessa Swindell's Cyclone and Pierce Brosnan's Doctor Fate, who together comprise the Justice Society.) “One anti-hero.” (That would be DJ's Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine.)
“And what an opportunity. The Justice Society pre-dated the Justice League. So opportunity, expand out the universe, in my mind… all these characters interact. That's why you see in Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine, we acknowledge everyone: Batman , Superman , Wonder Woman, Flash, we acknowledge everybo****here's also some Easter eggs in there, too.So that's what I meant by the resetting. Maybe resetting' wasn't a good term.only
one can claim to be the most powerful superhero .And Johnson, when gently pressed, says it's his indestructible, 5,000-year-old Kahndaqi warrior also known as Teth-Adam, that is the most powerful superhero in any universe, DC, Marvel or otherwise
"By the way, it's not hyperbole because we made the movie."And we made him this powerful.
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It's no less numbing to find material meant for children retconned for adults—and, in the process, for most of the naïve delight to be leached out, and for any serious concerns to be shoehorned in and then waved away with dazzle and noise. Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine” offers a moral realm that draws no lines, a personal one of simplistic stakes, a political one that suggests any interpretation, an audiovisual one that rehashes long-familiar tropes and repackages overused devices for a commercial experiment that might as well wear its import as its title. When I was in Paris in 1983, Jerry Lewis—yes, they really did love him there—had a new movie in theaters. You're Crazy, Jerry."Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine " could be retitled 'You're a Superhero, Dwayne'—it's the marketing team's PowerPoint presentation extended to feature length.
In addition to being Johnson's DC Universe debut, “Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine” is also notable for marking the return of Henry Cavill's Superman. The cameo is likely to set up future showdowns between the two characters, but Hodge was completely unaware of it until he saw the film.
“They kept that all the way under wraps, and I didn't know until maybe a day or two before the premiere,” he recently said Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine FULLMOVIE ONLINE
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Unfortunately, Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine is not currently available to stream on Disney Plus and it's not expected that the film will release on Disney Plus until late December at the absolute earliest.
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Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine has finally ended the box office blues. It will be a close call, but based on the estimates, the year's biggest opener remains Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness with its $187 million start. Nonetheless, Wakanda Forever's $180 million opening is a huge one, being the biggest ever for the month of November (beating the $158 million of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire), the second biggest of the year, and the 13th biggest of all time (though it could go up or down a few slots once the actuals come out). It led an overall weekend box office of $208 million, which is the fourth biggest of the year and the biggest by a long shot of the past four months, with no other weekend since July 8 -10 even going above $133 million.
This isn't the $202 million opening that we saw from Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine in February 2018, nor should we expect the amazing legs that were able to get that film to an astonishing $700 million. With that said, expect it to perform strong throughout the holiday season, likely repeating the five-weekend number-one streak that the first film had, and it shouldn't have any trouble becoming the second highest grossing film of the year so far, beating the $411 million cume of Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. The audience response is strong, with the A CinemaScore falling below the first film's A+ but bouncing back from the B+'s earned by Doctor Strange 2 and Thor: Love and Thunder, which ranked among the worst for the MCU. improvement over the recent franchise installations,with the aforementioned films coming in at 74% and 64% respectively on Rotten Tomatoes, both at the lower end for Marvel films, while Wakanda Forever's 84% ​​​is closer to franchise norms, though not meeting the high bar set by the first Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine's 96%.
The sequel opened to $150 million internationally, which Disney reports is 4% ahead of the first film when comparing like for likes at current exchange rates. Overall, the global cume comes to $330 million. Can it become the year's third film to make it past $1 billion worldwide despite China and Russia, which made up around $124 million of the first film's $682 million international box office, being out of play? It may be tough, but it's not impossible. Legging out past $500 million is plausible on the domestic front (that would be a multiplier of at least 2.7), and another $500 million abroad would be a drop of around $58 million from the original after excluding the two MIA markets. It'd be another story if audiences didn't love the film,but the positive reception suggests that Wakanda Forever will outperform the legs on this year's earlier MCU titles (Multiverse of Madness and Love and Thunder had multipliers of 2.2 and 2.3 respectively).
As for the rest of the box office, there's little to get excited about, with nothing else grossing above $10 million as Hollywood shied away from releasing anything significant not just this weekend but also over the previous two weekends. When Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine opened in 2018, there was no counterprogramming that opened the same weekend, but Peter Rabbit and Fifty Shades Freed were in their second weekends and took second and third with $17.5 million and $17.3 million respectively. That weekend had an overall cume of $287 million compared to $208 million this weekend Take away the $22 million gap between the two Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine films and there's still a $57 million gap between the two weekends. The difference may not feel that large when a mega blockbuster is propping up the grosses,but the contrast is harsher when the mid-level films are the entire box office as we saw in recent months.
Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine, which is the biggest grosser of the rough post-summer, pre-Wakanda Forever season, came in second with just $8.6 million. Despite the blockbuster competition that arrived in its fourth weekend, the numbers didn't totally collapse, dropping 53 % for a cume of $151 million. Worldwide it is at $352 million, which isn't a great cume as the grosses start to wind down considering its $200 million budget. Still, it's the biggest of any film since Thor: Love and Thunder, though Wakanda Forever will overtake it any day now.
Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine came in third place in its fourth weekend, down 29% with $6.1 million, emerging as one of the season's most durable grossers and one of the year's few bright spots when it comes to films for adults. The domestic cume is $56.5 million Fourth place went to Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile, which had a negligible drop of 5% for a $3.2 million sixth weekend and $40.8 million cume., in fact )
, which isn't surprising considering it's the only family film on the market, and it's close to grossing four times its $11.4 million opening. Still, the $72.6 million worldwide cume is soft given the $50 million budget , though a number of international markets have yet to open.
Finishing up the top five is Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine, which had its biggest weekend drop yet, falling 42% for a $2.3 million seventh weekend. Of course, that's no reason to frown for the horror film, which has a domestic cume of $103 million and global cume of $ 210 million from a budget of just $20 million.
The one new specialty title of note comes from a filmmaker we don't typically associate with the specialty box office: Steven Spielberg. The Beard's semi-autobiographical family drama Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine opened in four theaters in New York and Los Angeles to $160k, a $40k average. The film expands to 600 theaters the day before Thanksgiving, and it has the potential to break out in a way that none of the other of the season's awards contenders have. We're also seeing very solid numbers from Watch ‘Filmmakers for the The Machine, which grossed $1.7 million this weekend for a seventh place finish, bringing its cume to $5.8

William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

"Your mom got in a car crash", those were the words I heard coming from my phone, in the empty school hallway. A cold wave traveled through my body rapidly fast, my vision was starting to get blurry, my hearing got messed up, until I heard the words "Hey what're you doing, get back in my class!". Everything suddenly became normal. I heard the words "Sorry, Ms Smith" come out of my mouth forcefully, my legs started to forcefully walk into the classroom and sit down.
After class, as I was walking out of the classroom and finally into freedom, Ms Smith stopped me and said: "Young man, remember you have detention today!'. "B-but Ms smith", the words stopped coming out and I finally said "Fine".
At 3:15 I was already in detention, being tortured by boredom. After waiting for 2 hours, I finally was released.
It was dark outside, since it was winter. No one was on the streets, I was alone... I wanted to get this over with fast, I took a step, then another and proceeded to walk faster. As I was walking past the old abandoned house, which kids were scared of, a hand grabbed my arm from behind, and Screamed "Do you want to be happy?". I started to run in fear, and when looking back I saw a humanoid being, that was way too large to be human, with arms longer then me myself. It started to run towards me, I also ran, but no matter how fast I was running, IT was running faster.
In the distance, I could see a car, I didn't care, I ripped the door open, sat inside, and Screamed "Drive!" The car drove and led me back to my house, even though I never told the driver where I lived.
As I entered the house I saw my depressed dad eating a bacon sandwich by himself, he looked at me, and then looked down at his depressing sandwich. I went straight to bed, even though it was 7 pm.
Next morning I went into the kitchen and saw a stairway, the stairway was going upwards out of the house. I saw my dad going up them. Everything flashed Infront of my eyes, and I saw my dad hanging from the ceiling on a rope. I didn't know what to do except normally sit down and make myself breakfast. At 7 pm I went out of my house to school, leaving my hanged dad behind.
This time in School I would try to get detention, I wanted to see the large humanoid figure again...
At 5 pm I was walking out of school, past the abandoned house, when that same creature grabbed my hand and asked me that same question. "Do you want to be happy?", This time the voice was calm. I said "Yes, take me with you!". It took my hand and we both walked down a stairway leading to the ground. That same cold feeling went through my body, I didn't know where it would take me, I had no idea, when I arrived, I saw this would be my eternity. I had no chance to go back, in a weird way, I was happy... I had a phone there and posted this story, I had to write this for the plausibility rule

Instagram Reels to communicate?
I’ve (25F) have been seeing a guy (30M) for about two months now, we were friends for about 7 months first. I visited him this past weekend and it went well, but we had a few issues. Everything ended fine but I had a bit of a weird feeling. Today I haven’t heard from him at all, but he sends me Instagram reels to watch? He’s done this one other time when things were a little shaky. Normally we will call or at LEAST text a bit to check in with each other during the day. Any thoughts on why he’s not really communicating, but still finds it necessary to send me pointless Instagram videos to watch? I’m really trying not to get into a stressful/toxic/ confusing relationship

I know Reddit can be a sesspool, but I feel like I have nowhere else to turn.
My partner and I have been together for almost five years and we're still madly in love. I'm grateful for them. They're my best friend in every sense of the word. We have ebb and flow, we teach each other different things, have healthy conflict, and have a ton of fun and meaningful growth/time/conversation together. But lately...things haven't been the same. Not because they've changed or that I've changed in ways that mean we've outgrown one another, but because they're going through something so intense that's left them burnt out and is now leaving me burnt out.
For some context here, my partner is the child of a hoarder. An abusive, neglectful hoarder. I knew about this prior to us getting together as we were friends and worked with one another for three years prior to getting together. So theoretically, I knew what I was signing up for...that one day, eventually at some point, if we were to still be together, we'd both be tasked with dealing with his shit. And well, that day has finally come.
It started last May-ish when he had a stroke and ended up in the hospital. He was in there for a couple months, and during that time, my partner and their brother started working on cleaning out and organizing their dad's house. I helped a bit, but it was mostly them at the time while I supported on the sidelines. Went to hospital visits with my partner, helped occasionally at the house, that sort of thing. Unfortunately their dad came home (I say unfortunately because they can't make any progress on the board - of both things and animals - when their dad is present), and so a lot of things got put on hold for several months. It was good in terms of energy and taking a break, but during that time, my partner found out that they're the sole executor of their dad's will and that everything of his goes to them, and so, with his end being so near and not being able to make any progress on a hoarder house and four seacans worth of stuff, it was massively stressful for them and also for me.
Their dad spent the next several months wasting away in his house. He was supposed to do rehab stuff and take care of his health. None of that happened. Instead he literally ended up almost dying in his bed and eventually, after months of trying to convince him, ended up back in the hospital. He's now been there for several months and we know for sure he is never coming out. It's either he dies in the hospital or he goes to a long-term care home and dies there.
So anyway, for the past several months, it's been all hands on deck getting shit sorted for my soon-to-be father-in-law's shit. I'm talking trying to come up with money in the tens of thousands because of bills he owes, figure out government taxes because that man hadn't done taxes in over a decade (this is being sorted by an angel of a man who's been helping us thank god, but it's been so stressful), dealing with the four seacans (we finally got ONE of the four empty thank god), rehoming animals (as I said he hoarded animals, too, so over the past year we've managed to go from over 20 animals to I believe 6 who are still there now), and getting rid of shit in his house. We've also been selling cars cause he's hoarded those, too, and going to visit him when my partner feels up to doing that since it's so emotionally intensive for them. They've also been going through so much trauma healing because being around that house and their dad so much has brought so much up for them.
And while I'm their partner and I love them and I'm happy to support them through life, I'm getting so tired...so so tired. I'm feeling burnt out to a crisp. Which part of me feels crazy for! I'm not working anymore because with my partner having a job and having to deal with their dad's shit, it's not prudent for both of us to be working. Our home gets neglected and it's not feasible with everything going on rn. I'm best at cooking, cleaning, traditionally feminine gender role stuff, so I've taken on the role of being the stay-at-home partner right now. And so my brain is like well how can I be tired when I'm not even working...but I am. I am so tired...and I feel so guilty saying this that part of me doesn't wanna say this to my partner. Because they're even more tired which is even more valid! They're working forty hours a week and on top of that trying to balance their dad's shit, our relationship, yard projects we're doing together, resting, all that jazz. And here I am doing all of that minus the conventional job - although I will say as most of you probably know - keeping a house going is also a full-time job.
I just...I don't know guys. A big part of me wants to throw in the towel and say I need a fucking break. I need a month where I don't have to deal with any of your dad's shit! Where I just focus on our home and our garden and our renovations. I feel like I'm living a life I didn't sign up for even though I DID sign up for it, but it's like anything. You don't really know what it's gonna be like til you're going through it. And now that I am, I want off this ride. But I don't want off the ride that is my partner. But...selfishly, I want my old partner back.
I want my partner back who isn't just stressed 24/7 about work and dad and dad and dad and DAD. I literally don't know how to handle this anymore. Any amount of rest I get never feels like enough and it's shitty because I get more rest than my partner. Literally I feel like I'm not allowed to be tired or burnt out because they are dealing with even more than I am right now AND they have less time to rest.
But the problem is...I get the brunt of all of their emotions and stress. I mean, we both do. It's just hard cause they have more people to vent to about all of it. They have coworkers that I don't have that they talk to all of this stuff about. I have a very small amount of friends one because I'm introverted but also because a lot of friendships have been evolving and/or dying in my life lately. I've been going through a lot of growth alongside all this shit so it's honestly for the best but that doesn't mean it isn't lonely.
I just...idk. Despite us both going to therapy, I don't feel like I have the support I need right now or the boundaries or breaks that I need right now. The shitty thing is...this isn't something my partner can just walk away from. Believe me, if they could they would. But it's either we deal with shit now slowly but surely or we let it pile up, have their dad's house foreclosed on and have services turned off, have their brother and animals who are living in the house suffer, and prolong dealing with and selling the massive amount of SHIT their fucking hoarder dad has left them.
Any words of wisdom are much needed right now because I don't know where to turn other than to screaming or crying. All I know is I'm feeling like a partner who is a bit of a caregiver right now and as anyone who has experience knows, the caregiver has a rough time with shit, too, even if acknowledging that comes with a lot of guilt...

So, like the title says. I'm an Allo partner who is in committed relationship with an Ace partner. We all know asexuality is a spectrum and for her it comes in the fact that she is hypersexual but does not experience sexual attraction to other people. She knows she finds me sexy and hot but in terms of sexuality she doesn't experience the attraction - or at the very least the concept seems extremely difficult for her to grasp. That is all fine by me, I know it's the way she is with everyone, it's a part of her not just a part of our relationship so by no means do I take it personally.
The issue/thing that I'm currently struggling with is the balance of needs and compromise in our sex life. Like I said I'm not ace. And I'm a borderline sex addict tbh. I do not put this on her or demand more of her. I wish I could prove it for sake of the post but I know for a fact. I will let her know whenever I'm in a mood but just as a statement of how I'm feeling (not more than once in a day tho that's pressuring in my head) and let her choose to engage it or not. Every now and then I will let her know if I'm wanting her help with it since she has expressed sometimes I just need to be explicit. And she almost has never chosen to engage in it besides once in our entire relationship. I don't feel bitter or frustrated by this. If anything I'm very very happy and proud of her. She has had issues in the past with setting those boundaries with partners cause she was still finding herself. So I'm extremely, incredibly, amazingly proud of my partner for feeling safe and comfortable enough to chose not to push herself while with me. And it makes me feel very proud of myself for not putting too much pressure on her in this mismatched sexuality situation.
The one caveat is her own hypersexuality mixing with my own trauma. She does not engage when I have a need just for the sake of making me happy, which I love, but she frequently has sexual needs in her own way. Now I'm able to accommodate this. It doesn't feel needy to me. I enjoy helping. It makes me happy, and I feel capable of it without pushing myself like she would have to. I just have a history though. A history of people using me for my body and partners taking more from me than I get in return. She does not do this. I know she doesn't do this. But from my own trauma it feels very hard not to feel this sometimes when sexuality always has to be met on her terms. It would be easier I feel like if she didn't engage it so frequently ironically, altho then we would have the issue of me needing more so I guess we take the strife we are given. But since we do engage in sexuality A LOT. And it's never on my terms. And it requires me to be doing all the physical and mental effort. It's hard not to feel those same feelings I did when I was being used by past people. Like ghost feelings. She's not doing that. Nowhere near close. But I do feel it.
Sexually active at least twice a week over text, once a month in person (since we don't live together and she has strict parents) and many many different ways of showing sexual affection outside of "sessions". We getting it dirty a lot. But she doesn't feel capable of touching me, she doesn't feel capable of knowing I finished or helping me finish, and she doesn't feel capable of formulating words or descriptions for me to get turned on by. I don't blame her nor is that anything I take offense to. But quite often to no fault of her own and definitely factored by my own past, it feels like my enjoyment in our sex life is not a priority but rather an incidental result. Obviously she wants me to be happy. No question. But weirdly enough - in an allo/ace relationship we have sexual interactions a fuck ton...but it feels like none of it is an activity that that is intended to be helping me or even like it's a good thing if I get off during it. Most allo/ace partners struggle with the ace partner having sex to make the allo happy but it is really really a funny issue that in my case we have sex and my happiness feels inconsequential LOL. It sounds terrible but it feels like she's getting to have sex, and I'm masturbating. If we aren't in front of eachother and she wants to get off it feels like I'm porn. When I want to get off it feels like I'm single. Which I know. Following her pace when it comes to sex is something that I will have to adjust to and will be a core part of our relationship. I can do it. I know I can. No doubt. And it helps that she wants it so much. Definitely. Down the line. But rn. I feel like the allo sex doll and not in a fun way. Now I know that's not what she is doing or feeling. But that doesn't change that the feeling is hitting me yk.
I'm a firm believer that for a healthy relationship, that requires at it's core compromise, you don't just need to respond to each according their needs but their ability as well. It can't be one or the other. Sometimes you push yourself for things to work and many times you shouldn't have to do anything you aren't able to do. So I'm able to match her needs. That's something I'm capable of. It also will help us further down the line in which we will be very fortunate that we won't have to make as many compromises as most allo/ace partnerships because I can still get my satisfaction just not alwaya on my own terms. But rn. It NEVER feels like it's on my own terms. It's never a burden helping her. I'm a fucking nymphomaniac I'm always gonna be happy to help lol. But in the nicest way possible it feels like I'm getting a lot demanded of me and I don't feel comfortable or nor do I want to push for more. I also don't wanna be used less. I just want it to feel less like I'm being used.
I know I'm more capable because our personal boundaries and trauma are completely different. So I don't mind in the end if in our form I have to do more work and make more sacrifices. They won't feel like sacrifices to me. But in terms of talking to her about this, she also has some major anxiety issues from people not respecting her boundaries and relationships punishing her being who she is. She never would be angry at me for needing more. She would only feel sorry and worry that it means I'm unhappy. She is someone I've loved unlike anyone else before. She is someone who sex was never a factor or a condition in my interest in her. She is someone who makes me very happy and that I have no doubt will work in spite of anything I just typed. I know we will work it out. I just don't know how to proceed in the meantime. We have made great strides in communication. But due to that anxiety communication is like a 5 day process. If I tell her something is wrong before I can even get out my feelings she is in a panic attack and crying and feeling as if she has made my life terrible. No matter how I put it. This is okay. We process things differently. I know why she is responding that way. Doesn't make it fair to me but I make sure at some point I communicate that the response is bigger then the issue.And after 5 days of back and forth and different levels of anxiety on both our ends - I'll be able to make myself heard a little more, but honestly to make sure it's okay I'll probably have compromised my original statement and feelings more. It'll have become more about the response and how we acted during the communication rather than what I was trying to tell her about how I felt in the first place. It is a challenge. But one we welcome and can manage in our relationship. But with this feeling right here rn. I really. Really. Really want to be oh so careful. I don't want this to feel like a challenge. I don't want anything I say to make her feel like she's not doing enough, like she needs to change for me, like I'm unhappy, or that me feeling the way I feel is her fault. At the core. I don't want to do anythign that validates a single thing those fucks she has had experiences in the past with, said to her or demanded of her. Because she won't be angry at me if she feels that way. She will just feel responsible and feel like they were right all along. And I will not accept her feeling like that. I will not make her feel like that.
So I ask for anyone that dedicated time to read this for help. I'm sorry it was so long. At the end of the day just being able to rant it helps more than anything . Having the thoughts written down is good for me and I hate writing things down for no one to read. It doesn't accomplish anything in my brain. So if anyone has any suggestions on ways that I can approach this specific topic or feeling I would love the advice. I know the key in ace/allo relationships is communication. We have communicated. We do communicate. We will communicate. We have talked about this specific thing before lightly with me feeling she demands a lot of me sexually. But that was a while ago and it was a rough time for her so I'm scared/I want to do this efficiently. She's also on a trip with a big time zone difference so issues taking 5 days to talk through due to anxiety, certainly is something to be wary of/avoid when we are asleep and awake at different times. But I need either more reassurance or something else. Honestly the other option is I can do what I know will happen. And just we work with our lot one day at a time and more and more through our relationship. We don't have a big talk. I just have to - know my feelings, be aware of them, and without having a big dramatic talk about how she did nothing wrong; make little changes to my lifestyle/mindset. In that case I just need help coping with this current feeling.
So either or. If you have advice how to approach this, advice on how to adapt my behavior in a way that is more respectful to my own trauma and not just hers, or advice on how I can cope with these feelings. All are welcome
At the end of the day. I'm in love. I'm confident in us. And I'm not frustrated or annoyed by my partners sexuality. So that at it's core why I want to make sure everyone knows I don't feel like my partner is doing anything wrong and I'm not "sad cause my ace partner doesn't wanna fuck me". I'm just feeling like my sexuality is being used without it being for myself. I feel a part of my sexuality is useful in our relationship, but harms my own mental in the process. And honest to god. Thats probably my fault. I give, a lot. And I think I'm more capable of what I give from myself than I am. I'm worried and anxious because I've been used for my body many times before. And my partner would never. But fuck, maybe I am using myself lol. Using my body and how much I enjoy things as a means of "compromise" so that I cause less issues. But anyway yeah. Thanks for listening! Love to all

Does anybody else's narc do this? Never give any feedback that they listened to you, not even a grunt, anything, just staring at you with a complacent smug like you are crazy, or have two heads or "who are you even"?
Complete dismissivnes regarding everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. Trying to make small talk? That look. Asking a question? That look. Expressing your vulnerabilities? That look. And nothing, absolutely nothing in return. And if you push you feel the anger boiling under the surface while they deny everything and they lie to your face saying that they were indeed talking. (????)
Nothing is ever resolved. It's a battle of egos and I just want to talk. About anything. Our day, things, whatever. But I can't, only he can and if I don't engage with him the way he wants to is a big no no, he gets angry and gives me the silent treatment.
I live with this silent treatment 24/7 and he acts like I'm difficult because this is driving me crazy? I'm not a needy person. I like my space too. But he makes me feel like a fragile little puppet that can be put away or taken out its box as he wishes.
He doesn't talk much, doesn't really yell or fight only when I insist on a conversation about our relationship and then hell breaks loose because he becomes even more cynical, condescending and evil and blames me for everything. It's my tone, it's my depression, I am abusive, I am insufferable.
If presented with facts then it becomes a pity party. He just can't be better, I deserve better, something is wrong with him, he'll just leave, he's tired, he will never be what I want, he is depressed, etc.
I know he is a covert/malignant narc perhaps with some histrionic characteristics but I never encountered someone just like him before. He has a very... incelish way of being, Idk how else to explain.
And what really drives me insane is when he finally "gives in" he says yeah, we should talk, he sits in front of me and STARES AT ME AGAIN. He never talks. He expects ME to talk again? And according to him this is him making an effort?!
Then he goes into our room, lies down on the bed facing the wall and just stays there. After a few hours he acts like nothing ever happened and acts like I'm crazy for expecting some resolution. I can't deal with this anymore and I can't leave him just yet due to financial issues.
Edit: oh, and he plays dumb for everything. Acts like an innocent well meaning pure little boy whom just got here. AAAAAAAAAAAAA

I just finished installing my hitch using the included instructions and this post and I had a few tips for anyone else considering this.
1) I would definitely recommend leaving the bumper on over the hassle of removing and reinstalling it.
2) The first step in the official instructions is to remove 4 screws and 1 plastic rivet from each wheel well. If you aren't removing the bumper you only need to remove the bottom 3 screws and the rivet. This is the most annoying part of the job because there's no clearance for a screwdriver. If you've been waiting for a moment to buy some sort of super low profile screwdriver this is the project for it.
3) You'll need a 19mm socket for the screws that bolt into the frame, and a 3/4" socket plus something to hold the other (also 3/4") end of the bolt to attach the hitch to the brackets, and you need a torque wrench that you can connect to the sockets that can measure 64 ft/lbs
4) Before you cut the bumper there are 2 screws on the backside that are very close to the cut line at the very bottom of the bumper. It's worth it to remove and replace them instead of potentially messing up your cutting tool.
5) While it might be possible to install the hitch without removing anything but the one trim piece, it's a lot easier if you remove at least the 3 furthest-back screws in the splash shield just under the bumper so you can pull it down.
6) I had trouble getting one of the 4 connecting nuts onto the bolt on each side because of very tight tolerance with the frame. Sliding the (still loose) bracket forward or back can help a little. It's possible just difficult.
7) You need to cut the centermost tab off the black trim piece before you re-install it. If you hold it up to the car it should be pretty obvious. It's easy to cut with a box cutter.
I did the whole job myself in about 3 hours, including digging around for tools and stopping to look up and re-read directions. Getting the hitch hung on the brackets was a little tough by myself (it weighs around 50 lbs) but ultimately not too bad.

First shot at a recap so let’s see how we do!
Race Info
What – IM 70.3: Chattanooga
Where – Chattanooga, TN USA
When - Sunday, May 21st, 2023
Overall Goals
- PR - Yes (previous PR was a 5:30:12 at Ohio 70.3 in 2022)
- Sub 5:00 - Heck no
- Not blow up on run - Sorta?
TL;DR and Results
This was my 3rd 70.3 and my first with my coach who has been training me since the start of the fall 2022
Swim – 35:07
T1 – 5:03
Bike – 2:49:55
T2 – 3:13
Run – 1:51:57
Total time – 5:25:14
58th in AG (M27), 579 overall
Background
Was a college soccer player (GK) and after college had a foray into BJJ and MMA with a couple fights. Realized that was dumb for longevity and switched to triathlon
Training
Swimming
2-3 sessions a week of 2.4K to 3.6K yards per session. Some workouts are speed focused, some are technique focused, so on and so forth. I have seen a good improvement on CSS these last few month from 1:40 to 1:33. I did swim team as a kid so I have been trying to recapture some of that swim experience. I also felt some recent breakthrough with decreasing my stroke rate and using fewer more powerful strokes. Have been very happy with my improvement these last months. I still remain a terrible to nonexistent kicker
Goal split - 35 Minutes
Biking
typically rides a week. Longer weekend ride and 2 during the week (on zwift trainer) with focus on cadence or power or VO2. I have a big problem with low cadence, recently been trying to get up into the 80s for when I am normally riding. However when I start putting power down I start reverting to the low 70s cadence of riding. As far as FTP I had worked my FTP up to 257 leading up to the start of the season. However I have felt pretty weak these last 2 month leading up to this actual race. It has been harder for me to put the power down. However on the outdoor longer rides I have felt very strong and very comfortable riding for longer periods. Outdoors I ride without power so will probably need to make that investment soon.
Goal Split - 2:30:00
Running
Running has steadily improved with increased mileage and more speedwork. Recent 5K test had improved me to 6:33 for my fastest 5K. Additionally in the most recent half marathon race I had I finished 1:30:12 with a 6:57 avg. biggest issues I have been dealing with are some pain in my left Achilles at the very start of runs that typically disappears after a mile or 2. Typically 3-4 runs a week (1 tempo short, longer run on the weekend, Z2 10k).
Goal Split - 1:40:00
Race Morning
Woke up at 4 AM to get the body rolling. Had my usual prerace breakfast of 2 English muffins with peanut butter and honey as well as a power armour with caffeine and a cup of coffee. Transition setup right at 4:40 to give me plenty of time for the most important part of the morning, THE BM. Went back to my hotel and was able to get showered and dressed up for the race. Headed over to the busses for drop-off to the swim and get to the swim start 20-30 mins before the race start
Swim – seeded myself in the 30-35 minute group and set off! for those that fear swimming Chatty is a great race. It is a with the current swim so it felt like we were flying down the river. Dealt with a slight leak in my left goggle the entire swim which was pretty annoying but it was far from terrible. Also I forgot that in Chatty the swim is actually 1.4 miles instead of 1.2, so as I swam over 2100 yards I was thinking WTF why are we still swimming? This was the first time I seeded myself in the 30-35 min so I did deal with less of the slower swimmers who seed incorrectly. However I did still find quite a few in front of me who should not have been where they were. Mini Rant here, but seriously people why are you doing this? IDK this is just a huge pet peeve of mine when I have to swim all the way around a person (small problems I know...) rant over. But got through it without any real major contact with anyone
35:07 @ 1:23/100 yards - 7:48 PR!
T1 – Never had a wetsuit stripper before! that was fun. But this transition is long as crap. My watch clocked my total transition distance as almost half a mile which was crazy to me. Also I was a little slow getting my socks on today which was unusual. all and all a odd transition where I just felt slow and unfocused on what I was doing.
5:03
Bike – Set off on what had previously been my nemesis for my first 70.3 but felt like I would have an area of great improvement for today! with my goal of 2:30 I knew my goal average speed was around 22MPH, and for the first bit we were well on track! If I look at my average speed through the first 26 miles I was averaging 21.6 MPH. And this is a course with rolling hills most of the way. Goals of the bike were to try and really spin to get through the hill and not stuck grinding it out as this would destroy my legs. Also wanted to keep on my nutrition as I felt this really caused me to blow up on my runs in Galveston and Ohio. Fueling per hour was 1 x 55g carb Gatorade mix bottle and a maurten gel to get to 80 g carb per hours. Would then rinse down the body and sip water through the aid stations. after I burned through my 2 bottles I sipped on the Gatorade endurance bottle taken from the aide stations. In total took 160 g carb + some of the Gatorade endurance for nutrition. So all was going ok until after the "big" climb halfway. Not sure if it was fueling or the headwind that started. But my average speed just tanked. I felt like I had no power. When I tried to flex and stretch my legs I could just feel the damage in them. Not good. Then with the slower speed my mental game fell apart. mile 40-50 I was in a really bad mental spot and had decided at several points to just quit when I got back into transition as there was no way in hell I would break 5 hours. I felt like a failure and a loser. why had I been training 9-12 hours every week to just suck? Talk about a tale of 2 half's. Managed to get back to transition. Mini rant #2 - draft packs... screw you. A literal peloton of 8-10 people 2 abreast 5 deep flew by me at mile 45 and let me tell you I was big mad. Rant over. Also saw a guy lose control at 30 MPH and hit the deck pretty hard, hope he's ok. That was a nice bike to wreck on :( Also another guy almost started peeing on me (I was behind him) near the end and definitely did not use enough water to wash himself down after LOL.
2:49:55 - 20.07 MPH - 11ish minutes slower than PR :(
T2 – Made it into T2 and said alright lets just run the first 5k and see how we are doing then we can DNF if you really are that miserable. So got everything racked and ditched the 10 maurtens I had somehow acquired on the bike. but threw on my trusty Saucony Endorphin Pro 2s and set off
3:13
Run – That first hill out of transition took my already bad mental state and threw it into the fire. So I have never come closer to quitting than that moment. I did not somehow. And then the run flattened out. So after 1.5 miles I actually started to feel good mentally and that's when I knew I was going to finish. I also saw how my pace was going and I knew I would at least PR on the day if I just held the pacing I was doing. after the 1st aid station I decided I wouldn't push too hard on the run and simply walk through the aid stations. avg pace as 7:40-8:00 while running then would walk through the aid stations. in the aid stations I would douse with water and take Gatorade in. Also was putting ice in the suit. I think in total I had 2-3 gels throughout the run? and I stopped at every single aide station for drink and splashing myself with water. Besides the aid stations the only section I had to walk was an incredibly steep little hill right before the first bridge crossing to the other side of the river. That hill is a real ball buster. In terms of improvements I think if I really want to chop some time I have some free time if I don't walk through aid stations. I need to get better at doing that on the run to enable me to get that free time. Also I really didn't push at all my heartrate was pretty much in high Z2 for me the whole run. Also I was dealing with side stitches off and on the whole run so not sure how I can prevent that in the future but if I could eliminate that I would be a much happier camper. Also lap 2 on the run was SO CROWDED mind you there were 3k athletes but man that was a busy run course for the second lap. Saw the shoot and had the tear well up a little. Got over the line and had a quick little 30 second sob so that was that.
1:51:57 - 8:31 AVG - 11 min PR
Final Thoughts
Chatty has me feeling some really mixed emotions. I really was sure I was in for massive PR., chopping 30 minutes off my last PR. Instead I got a measly 5. Maybe I am being to hard on myself or am being greedy with the amount of time I feel I should be dropping? However when I think about it practically it is a much harder course with 2.3K feet in climbing over the bike and 600 or so feet in climbing on the run. So to PR on a harder course is good right? Just a confusing weekend for me about how to feel about it. I think nutrition is still and issue as I am left thinking why did I feel so weak on the bike? I have read some literature that 90-100g carb may be even better now so I think I will implement this into training. Also could I have been tougher and gone harder on that run? If you saw me out there I was in an blue and orange suit with a white helmet riding and old black and blue trek equinox 7 or black running hat. Next race is in July with the Happy Valley 70.3 so I have even more climbing to look forward to there. Will I be able to further PR? Let me know what y'all think of this write up or your thoughts on all this!

Alternate title: “curvy girl seeks fun, flirty banter but also wants someone to fall in love with her and move off grid to a cabin in the mountains where they live happily ever after”… damn character limits :)
but hello! anyways, thanks for clicking on my post!
I’ve been on Reddit r4r (and it’s variants) a time or two before and it always ends in a fizzled conversation. 2-3 months of daily conversation, falling for each other and then heartbreak - I’m an expert! (also, I get attached too quickly. But don’t worry, I’m in therapy! Don’t say I didn’t warn you). In addition to my experience with said failed almost-relationships, I’m also an eternal optimist, hoping that this time will be different!
A little about me: - I’m solidly employed and very career driven (despite the fact I’m posting this midday on a weekday - I’m making the most of my lunch break). But that also means I’m not necessarily available 24/7 and spend a lot of time traveling. - I’m tall, brunette, pale, and curvy (in all the right places, and probably the wrong places too if I’m being honest). - I absolutely love dogs (if you have a dog, send pics!). - I have a mishmash of hobbies (painting, guitar, knitting, gardening) but also have raging ADHD so most of my hobbies are ghosted after 2-6 weeks.
What I’m looking for: - Someone I vibe with! I don’t really care about much else, but humor, wit, and emotional intelligence go a long way.
Reach out if you’re interested! Or don’t! Either way have a great day :)

ChatGPT keeps getting it wrong so I figured I'd ask here. I have a bunch of strings in a text each separated by lines. I know how to use regex but this is a little too tricky for me.

1. CIRCUS LANE ROAD, BLOCK/102-136A 2. DUNLEY STREET, BLOCK/145-164 (NEAR PRESLEY GROVE) 3. LADEN HOUSE, BLOCK 4. WAKESFIELD ROAD, BLOCK/122 5. FLORAL AVENUE, BLOCK/25-51 (18-28 ON WEST ALM ROAD) 

​
I'm trying to return the words before the word "BLOCK" and the first number range after it (with an optional letter attached to the end like in the first line). If it's only a single number after the word "BLOCK", then I want to return that. If nothing is after "BLOCK", then stop and return the words before it only. E.g:
1st line should match CIRCUS LANE ROAD 102-136A
2nd line should match DUNLEY STREET 145-164
3rd line should match LADEN HOUSE, BLOCK
4th line should match WAKESFIELD ROAD 122
5th line should match FLORAL AVENUE 25-51

Hey all, I am your typical Yugi-Boomer who played the game back in 2000 in middle school, and dropped it after. Now, all these years later, Master Duel and a buddy brought me back into the game. Master Duel has been my main form of playing Yugioh, but I have started getting some physical cards, and my buddy and I are planning on going to a small local this weekend.
I have a few decks that are at a fairly competent level, but I do not really follow the meta at all for the TCG. (And even MD really. I just play decks that I want to play.) The decks that I have and know the best are: Suship, Vaylantz, Harpie. I also have recently picked up the basics for a Ghoti deck, and am thinking of getting a 3rd Traptrix Structure deck. I am getting semi-comfortable with Ghoti on MD, but I haven't touched Traptrix at all yet. (Bought 2 of the SD the other day, since I heard it's pretty viable with a little tuning.) I'm thinking of taking Vaylantz, as it and Suships are the two decks I know the best, but I think Vaylantz probably has more potential. What deck out of what I've listed do y'all think has the best potential in the current format? Should I just pick up a 3rd Traptrix and try to learn it before the weekend? (I like Ghoti a lot, but I don't have much of the ED support it needs outside of like, White Aura Whale, and think my current Ghoti deck would get smoked.)
Also, I know literally nothing about Kashtira, Superheavy Samurai, Purrley, and the only thing I know about branded is "Ash the Branded Fusion." What are good chokepoint or high priority negates that I should look out for in the current format?
I feel like I'm fairly understanding of chains and spell speed now, but there is one aspect that I'm not 100% sure how works. What exactly determines if you can chain block or not?
I realize and understand that I'm probably going to get absolutely wrecked at this local. Winning is not my main goal here, I'm really just looking to get a feel for how actual TCG play feels in a competitive setting. What are some general competitive courtesies I should apply while playing? Should I present my deck for cut after every shuffle, even if we both know I'm going back in for another search? How forgiving are people if we slip up on current gamestate? (My biggest fear if I go with Vaylantz is accidentally using a pend effect twice in one turn to SS the same monster. I'm usually okay at remembering who I've used, but perhaps I should take notes?) Do players generally explain their plays as they're doing them? Or are most folk so familiar with the game they just go through the actions usually? Would it be bad manners to use a card that is banned on the next banlist for the 5th, if it isn't banned now? (Cyber-Stein. I do use the Gear Gigant X -> Cyberstein -> Naturia Exterio in my Vaylantz deck. I would like to use it once in a local since I bought the cards, but would it be considered BM now that they're gonna be banned in a few days?)
What are good general side deck options for this format? I have a few staples, but not a huge amount of them. (I have 3 ash blossoms now at least, 1 of each of the other ghost girls. Gonna have 3 evenly matched if I buy that last Traptrix SD. I have 1 veiler, 3 Called by, 2 DRNM, no lightning storms or Imperms unfortunately. I have 1 Droll, I recently picked up a playset of Dimension shifter)
Sorry for the unorganized word vomit here. I'm just pretty nervous. Thanks for any advice you can offer!

Djamä Sonurupākä-Pēzjeceni stands, looking out over the labour before him. A series of four paddies are being built off of Dogwood-Point. Two of them dig earth from the point to make the paddy, the other two enclose rectangles of the lake with mounds of earth. To his rear, NāpäkoduThonu works on four paddies of their own.
The clans cooperated on the project, building the outer-walls together in the early-days of summer where the lake’s level gets low enough for it to be doable. Now they’re expanding their paddies in one of the biggest projects Konuthomu has ever known.
Sonurupākä’s main role is to direct. And he wears his resplendent cape of feathers to indicate such—even if he also wears the simple quarter-dome hat of a farmer. He sends the young men carrying baskets of earth to the eastern medial causeway. When needed, he steps in and offers aid. But in this moment, he puffs gently on his pipe. Enjoying the heady rush of fresh-air and warm smoke.
Someone calls him over, there’s a section of clay in one of the inner-paddies being excavated.
Screams fill the hall. Senisedjarha, his wife, is in labour. He was rushed away by the duNothudo as they take care of her. He was left mixing ashes for glaze and hearing his love’s cries from across the field.
This is their second child. Their first, a beautiful baby girl, is bouncing on her grandmother’s knee. It’s a good omen to have such a hardy first-born. But it doesn’t ease his anxiety at the second birth.
He mixes in the rotu ash—it should form a grassy green once fired—with the wet clay and stirs it vigorously.
The baby is coming later than expected. The duNothudo assured them that it wouldn’t be a problem, that the best fruit simply take longer to grow. He was supposed to be gone on a trading mission by this point. The canoes are already prepared. But it would be a variation from the kacä to abandon his wife now.
Next he mixes the birch ash—this one forms a creamy white, tinged with yellow. It’s almost a buttery colour.
Senisedjarha is strong though. And while the pregnancy has exhausted her, especially the past moon of it—her belly even more gravid than with the first pregnancy, the stores have been full and the weather kind. She’s been able to rest, drinking broth on their bed of furs.
Now, he mixes red slip with willow ash. This one is far more slip-forward. The ash gives it its sheen and flow, the bursts of colour and shine which makes the glaze all the more vibrant.
He’s to visit the land of the Rhadämā, those strange feather-less folk. Their cargo is wine (mostly maple), jade tools, and the glazed pots his current labour allows.
Finally, he mixes oak ash with bright-red slip. The smooth, green-blue glaze which results is perfect for lining urns. Some things you want to breathe through the unglazed clay, but others you want to keep sealed. It’s a delicate balance.
He pauses, unsure of the change and caught up in his work. The screaming has stopped. He rushes back to the house.
Two rambunctious baby boys. He holds Seni’s hand while holding the first-born of the two. An auspicious sign.
It had been a painful labour, and his wife’s exhausted. Drained. But two healthy baby boys. He can’t believe their luck. Two marriages of equal prestige to bring additional clans onto their path? It’s more than he could have ever hoped.
Knee deep in water, he guides the boat out. Full of pots, the canoes sit low in the lake. Eight men for eight canoes, a sizable contingent. He’s been tasked to bring gifts and trade in hopes of establishing a more permanent relationship with the Rhadämā of Kamābarha.
The Cakäma of DjamäThamä, where his two new sons will be given names, remains three turns away. He prays he’ll be back in time.
Clambering out of the lake, he readies himself to go. Even this early in the morning, he knows the day will be hot and a gentle mist rises with the sun over the lake.
He clasps the hands of the duNothudo in turn, pledging that he will travel honest and true. Laughing at Redotsuko’s quip. He finally reaches his wife, the youngest of the duNothudo, and the one most dear to him.
As they hug, she whispers in his ear: “Return swift and safe, your family waits for you.”
Speeches and recitations and other such fanfare follow, as Sonurupākä climbs into his canoe, and sets off towards the rising sun. His eyes may be wet, but his path is clear. Duties to clan come before all else, even these first few months of his sons’ lives. The paddling becomes rhythmic. There is only one way, and that is forward. He simply hopes, and prays, it leads him back home.
It’s their third day of travel. The weather has remained clear, and bright. Their first two nights they stayed in houses of DjamäThanä. Lovely, low provincial halls—not dissimilar to the one in which Sonurupākä was born and raised. A life a world away now, even if, in factuality, merely feather and name separates that him from the him in the canoe now.
He sips a skin of crabapplecider, and grabs a mouthful of the pickle mix: bison and pawpaw and sumac and blackberry and brire. It’s sour, a little salty. The sweetness and tartness of the berries cut through the rich fat of the bison. He’s dressed in a loincloth, a farmer’s hat (a round, quarter-dome offering shade protection) and has a plain-hemp cape hanging from his shoulders, protecting his back from the sun. It’s a lovely day.
Rowing once more, he thinks about his mission. Kamābarha is not alien to the people of Konuthomu. They may have forgotten their feathers, but they’re skilled craftsmen and produce a lovely nut. Travel is frequent between the villages. And even without feathers, the people govern themselves well. They know of the wisdom of crone’s, and put the vitality of young men to service. Sure, their way of speech may be harsher, atonal in a way. But it’s not that far off from Menidān, and easy to learn. Compare the language of Rhadämā to that of the Jeli—infrequent visitors here, but known further west. Rhadämā is a poem in the wrong meter, Jeli is more similar to the barking of dogs. But what can you expect from people with neither lake nor feathers?
Voyages such as this gives one plenty of time to think. He hopes his aids back home are preparing the pottery well. They’ve expanded the workshop below the Themilanan. Three kilns, a lengthy pottery space, plenty of storage for the clay. Small-folk of DjamäThanä do most of the actual pot construction, but the glazes are kept in the Themilanan. So too is the knowledge of organizing the fire for the kiln to burn properly hot. The duNothudo should assure his Good-Brother does the firing properly. He hopes so, at least.
They practice Rhadämā over dinner, forming the words again and again. Sonurupākä insists: passable is insufficient, his accent must be perfect.
They have easy access to food, with the plentiful waterfowl and fish, but he missed the plentiful wine and pickles of home. Rhadämā wine is tasty from what he remembers though.
After eight days of travel, they approach Kamābarha.

Namesake: Ah! vous dirai-je, Maman, by Mozart
User: Derik Moezart
Derik Moezart is an introvert with ADHD. He's the oldest amongst his family, so he got used to keeping his younger brothers busy. He learned to fight during covid, and can do it pretty decently.
Appearance: Each unit of Avodi Raijemaman appears as a small humanoid with the legs, arms, and overall size of a toddler and a steel face with one eye. The mouth has two pointed teeth sticking out of it's mouth, a tooth pointed down on the left side, and a tooth pointing up on the right side. The head and torso are joined in an egg-like shape, which is covered in black wool. Connected to this body is a tail with a star at the end. Every unit has this same basis, but they all like to differentiate themselves, wearing different things.
Stand abilities:
Adapting abilities- the stand can adapt its abilities. As soon as it's summoned, the stands still have the abilities to do the normal things, like walk, talk, ect. However, if they use an item that allows them to do something they normally couldn't do without it, they get the ability to do it without the item. For example, if a unit fires a gun, then that unit gets the ability to fire bullets.
Clothes- they have a simple ability that allows them to morph any clothes to fit them, purely for aesthetic reasons.
Resummoning- if killed, a unit can come back anywhere within 10 feet of itself or the user, but they come back shard by shard, taking 30 seconds to completely resummon, also losing all previous abilities they managed to get.
Colony- Avodi Raijemaman consists of 3 units, each with their own respective names, personalities, and even (really cheesy) stand cries. They all like to scout out for the opponent, but also get distracted easily, which can both help and hinder them considering their main ability.
The first one is ｢Alphabet｣. He's the leader of the group, but he's kind of clumsy. His stand cry is "ABC"
The second one is ｢Black Sheep｣. He's the most helpful of the group, but he's not the brightest. His stand cry is "Baa, baa"
The final one is ｢Little Star｣. He's the brains of the group, but he's rather cowardly. His stand cry is "Twinkle, twinkle"
Unit namesakes: the respective nursery rhymes "The Alphabet Song" "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"
Weaknesses:
-the first, as mentioned in abilities, is that they can get easily distracted. This mainly comes down to when they're looking for the opponent, though, and if they're in a tense situation, they can focus on the task at hand.
-it's also one of those stands that can get harmed by things other than stands.
Base Stats:
Power- D
Speed- C
Range- A
Durability- A
Precision- C
Potential- A
Examples of uses:
-throwing a knife- ability to crate knives to throw
-turning on a flashlight- ability to light their way
-riding a vehicle- able to go fast without using their own energy
-playing an instrument- able to make the sound of that instrument
-reading a book- has photographic memory of the book and can read it word for word
-calling someone on a phone- can call someone, talking to them and hearing them like they have an earpiece in
-watching a movie- like the book, they will be able to access the movie in their memories and watch it
-surfing the web- can access the internet
-printing something- they can print out the thing they printed out. Can also scan things to print if the printer has that function, or use a device to decide what to print out
-taking a picture- can take a picture and print it out automatically if the camera works that way, or use a printeprinter ability if it needs to. Can otherwise access the picture in their mind like the book and movie.
This is an entry for the "stands with names based on nursery rhymes" contest. If I win, I want a contest of literal interpretations for old political cartoons.