Pafford funeral home in lexington tn

currently 16&2 with my third and i just give up. i do everything with the household, i take care of both kids, pets and im expected to be happy all the time and appreciate the fact my husband JUST went back to work full time, fulfill his and our daughters needs to the fullest while running completely on empty. i’ve expressed im depressed, overwhelmed and now suicidal. nothings changed, nobody cares. if i offed myself right now no one would know until they go looking for dinner, need their device charged, or my husband wanted to catch a nut. i did so well last pregnancy fighting my demons and still taking care of my toddler and husband, this time, i just don’t care. why fight it? so i don’t spend all day balling my eyes out with my three year old chasing my around asking me why i’m crying while also simultaneously packing my 10 month old around while i do everything? my husband just makes me feel like a total failure as a wife, like i fucked up our relationship by getting pregnant, and now can’t even handle juggling all of their needs and my own as i’m expected to. i’ve asked for help, no one listens. his mental well-being is completely reliant on me and my moods, im not allowed to upset in his presence because then it just brings him down, that’s my fault. my husband once again last night got pissed off at me for not knowing him wanting to cuddle with me actually meant he wanted his dick sucked and to have sex, i just did both and initiated the night before, that makes me a failure as a partner for not always being the one who initiating and maintaining our sex life every time he wants it. that’s what it’s only ever about “im sad because you don’t coddle me and fuck me anymore” even though i’m depressed and would literally rather suck the lead out of a bullet. i’ve been struggling with that sort of shit since the last baby. i’m trying really hard to get my 3 almost 4 year old ready for preschool(manners, respect, using her words) today i told her she couldn’t go with nanny because she had a doctors appointment and she spit in my fucking face dude. i just fucking crumbled. why? just why? i do everything for all three of them and all i get in return is disrespect and neglect. my little 10 month old doesn’t even want me, she doesn’t even say mama man. i take care of her all day, everyday and the only time she’s happy and talking is when she’s with her dad. i’m just so tired of trying to be a good mom and wife and still getting shit on. idk when enough is going to be enough, maybe when i really do loose all hope and just walk away forever. then it’d be my fault for “giving up”. to be a fly on the wall at my own funeral would only show me the things i already know everyone in my family would say about me. just a selfish ass who didn’t have it that bad and should’ve just asked for help. i plan on talking to my ob about my constant ups and downs at my next appointments but what difference does it really make? for her to sit there and tell me to “exercise and “make” time for myself”? still don’t feel better in four weeks? don’t worry it’s only temporary, you’ll be okay after baby is born. no it’s not, nothing will be better. literally quiet the opposite, i’ll be worse off then than i am now. i’m not excited about this next baby, now that i think about it i don’t think i’ve taken one prenatal or checked a single heart beat at home, which i was religious about with my first two. if anything i dread the idea of another baby. another girl at that, my fault, guess i can’t produce boys. oops. i just feel like walking away forever because nothing will ever get better, just significantly worse for me. enough of my bitching though, i have to go copy my mil shitty meatloaf recipe before my husband gets off work. thanks for reading.

I'm an army combat vet and have a funeral for a very close friend Friday where I'm a pallbearer. His wife sort of wants me to wear my blues for it. My issue with that is I have a beard and she doesn't want me to shave it off for that. With updates regs and stuff, I need a little input from other vets. I've already let her down in leaving him to go home to where he took the easy road out. I would like to break it out one more time but not if it would look bad

Immortality defies the gods.
Last City Of Man stood in bleak sandblown towers before the Mad Swordsman in its tattered rags. The towering tarnished machine limped forward, dragging its sword-arm with its remaining limb. The brown robes covering the giant whipped in fluttering tatters and its hood shaded the cracked black orb that was its face.
"All dead. The enemy follows, as I bring the message of doom." Mad Swordsman laughed to itself as it went.
In the city it went, through the opening gates. There in the center of the calming wind storm stood Law Givers. These men and women were paid by tax revenue to read the laws written on the pillar in the center of the city. Each faced a different direction, loudly reciting Law.
The city was divided into districts, each within another, with an avenue that bisected the city in one direction, while the river it commanded bisected it in the other direction. At its heart stood the stronghold of its king. He was the only man in the city that was fertile. All the other men were castrated during childhood and partnered to a girl, betrothed. Yet when they were married, it was the king that took the bride on a honeymoon.
"It isn't madness? Would I recognize madness?" Mad Swordsman listened as the law was described. It decided that the laws of this final city were insane laws. All the taxes and mutilations. Every crime was punished the same way: by cutting off the offending body part. Sometimes just having that body part was a crime, apparently.
"What are you doing here, giant?" King Gamma asked. He had with him his army. Some had spears or clubs, others had bows and bronze axes, still a few had rusted assault rifles swathed in leather or painted rocket launchers decorated in fetishes. Their armor was similarly arranged from grass shields, sports padding or chainmail to patched flak jackets. Mad Swordsman decided they were only minimal adversaries. With a sweep of its weapon or a sudden tumbling roll it could wipe them out instantly. It hadn't come to the city to fight humans.
"I forgot." Mad Swordsman chuckled.
"Do you want repairs? You must do something for me." King Gamma pointed to the desocketed sword-arm it was dragging. The left hand of the giant robot was a massive sword forged of some metal from the Pool Of Time, near the Temple Of Humanity, far away and long ago. Such things could not be made anymore.
"I want repairs. I must do something for me." Mad Swordsman responded.
"No, for me." King Gamma pointed to himself. "For King Gamma you will serve."
"Mad Swordsman serves no king." Mad Swordsman laughed. "Have you not heard my song in the ruins of the cities? Will you see my shadow before you in the wastelands? I wander and here to there I go. I wonder, my little king with a big heart, do you know?" Mad Swordsman spoke and dropped the sword-arm, gesturing with its freed hand as it spoke poetically.
"You insolent robot! I should have you shot from the walls with imp's needles." King Gamma was turning red faced and angry.
"I see those EMP harpoons you just mentioned." Mad Swordsman looked up and saw two huge crossbows meant for disabling giant robots. It wondered if two would be enough to take it down. It might be.
"You think those will just tickle?" King Gamma laughed angrily. Mad Swordsman started laughing the same way. One of the king's advisors said something to him. He stopped and reconsidered the towering robot, staring up at it. When he had calmed down and thought he gestured for Mad Swordsman to sit.
The machine obeyed. Pleased that the advice he had gotten was solid: he rewarded his advisor with praise and put him in charge of the machine.
"I am Leer. I'd follow me and get repairs, unless I wanted to fall to pieces with sand in my gears and my robes in tatters. Such a tarnished surface. You were once called Silver Swordsman, were you not? You have no gleam." Leer told the robot.
"Those are fun words." Mad Swordsman got up and hefted its sword-arm over its shoulder.
"Then come with me." Leer led the machine into the heart of the city. There was a great library there. Scribes worked day and night by electric light and had recorded information about all things on millions of scrolls of recycled paper. Atop the library was a satellite dish. The gates of bronze were opened and the giant in the brown tattered robe came into the heart of the city, its vast library.
"I shall have to have a look inside. I wonder if the information you have included the Serum of Everlasting Life among other great secrets from ancient times." Leer brought out a cable that he could connect to the inside of Mad Swordsman, to its brain.
"Couldn't I just tell you?" Mad Swordsman chuckled.
"Could you?" Leer stopped for a moment, waiting for that.
"No." Mad Swordsman laughed. "I forgot all that stuff a long time ago. One too many of those robot-eating plants zapped me. You know?" Mad Swordsman knocked on the side of its upper body. It didn't really have a head, just the black orb of sensors and ambient energy intake for a face.
"Let me take a look. It might still be in there." Leer was opening the sealed access panel on the robot with a plasma cutting tool. If it could cut diamonds it could cut the flesh of an empathical. This kind of robot was the most advanced, a machine built by machines, it was nearly indestructible, supposedly.
"That really hurts a lot." Mad Swordsman told him. "Keep doing it because I like pain. Making myself sit here while you do that makes me feel sane. The searing agony makes me feel alive. The trust in a stranger makes me feel holy. Right now I feel as close to God as I ever have."
"You sure are weird." Leer laughed.
"I sure am." Mad Swordsman laughed also and then howled in the torment of its sensitive nerves being burned.
"This will be dangerous. Our minds will touch briefly and the spark of that, in the waves of consciousness that is the fabric of the world, we might cease to exist. Both of us." Leer put on the crown of cables and wore it.
"You want the Serum of Everlasting Life so badly?" Mad Swordsman asked.
"I believe so, yes." Leer stated.
"I will try to help you inside my mind. Be careful, we only have one instant." Mad Swordsman sounded wise to some kind of irony.
"How long will that seem?" Leer worried.
"That depends on how long you have got. Until you break inside your mind, you will not know mine." Mad Swordsman swore.
"It's too late." Leer's eyes rolled back into his head and he jerked as the connection seized up and down his spine painfully. The first thing he was aware of was the phantom pain of the burn. It felt like someone had burned him painfully behind his ear and plugged something into his spine through his neck.
"See my residual self-image." Mad Swordsman stood as a brown robed monk, or at least as the robes of the monk. Only a metal skeleton hid beneath. A grinning skull of silver and long bone fingers of silver. It stood only as tall as the man, or the man stood as tall as the machine. From the perspective of the machine: size was an illusion. Leer noticed he looked exactly the same.
"I look the same." Leer said.
"No you don't. I see you how you see yourself inside your mind. It's not what you look like." Mad Swordsman laughed hysterically after it said this. "You look ridiculous."
"I am already starting to regret this." Leer grumbled. He followed Mad Swordsman through the fogs of memory to some kind of glass city. "What is this place?"
"I don't know what to call it." Mad Swordsman looked around and shrugged. "There is the first place to try: a recent memory."
Terror gripped the man, then. He felt the swift cutting bite. The rending of flesh, no mercy, so much anger being unleashed. So much terror and pain caused. Far worse than the root of the evil. Yet shining there was the jewel he sought.
He watched in a frustrated discord of emotions as Mad Swordsman followed the angry woman's pointing finger. Where she pointed the blade cut a man in half, over and over. Their screams and their blood spray kept happening until it became comical. He was laughing and it felt like vomiting. It was painful, heaving laughter at the sight of the executions. There was almost a musical perfection to the giant's swordplay as it danced with great speed and strength, slashing its blade through each opponent.
When they were all dead the woman and the giant left the cave behind. What was the cave? Leer felt his head spinning. On the walls of the cave were the paintings of different prehistoric animals. Outside stood offroad vehicles retrofitted with armor and weapons. "The Caves of Scane."
Leer fell to the dust and laughed. There was no such place. They might as well have hidden the Serum in the ruins of Casark. There simply was no such place.
"What have you seen? Does the truth frighten you?" Mad Swordsman knelt and put a silver hand on the tickled man in the dust.
"What is that?" Leer's eyes became silent, a terror beyond what a mind can handle. Somehow the tipping of the scales put his ego into a freefall. How small and humble a man can be when he sees a hole in the sky.
"That has no name. It is not something that can be described with eyesight alone. Perhaps you see, in the blue sky, a curtain that is the night sky, except there are no stars. What you see is reality, it is the real-reality. You know instinctively what it is and what it implies to see it there, like that." Mad Swordsman rambled strangely and then laughed merrily at the revelation.
"It is nothing. It is just a dream. A hallucination inside the mind of an insane computer." Leer protested.
"Ah such are all unacceptable memories, I am certain." Mad Swordsman sounded bemused. Its grinning silver skull gleamed under the monk's hood.
"Who is she?" Leer pointed to the statue of the angel that stood towering above the mist.
"I am an empathical and she is my mother. Do you not call upon your own mother in times of great need? Even if she is not there or could not save the hero Gilgamesh, always the quest is for mom." Mad Swordsman sounded proud and its empty eyesockets reflected the great statue.
"The hero Gilgamesh? Is that how you see us? We live on the brink of extinction." Leer's lip quivered angrily.
"Don't cry; they will grow back." Mad Swordsman reached and pointed to the door of memories it wanted to check for the Serum. Unlike the memories there was a cold wind and a world beyond.
They stood there upon the frozen wastes surrounding the Temple Of Humanity. Mad Swordsman stood there with its tarnished silver, partially peeled from the scouring ice winds, revealing tortured silver flesh beneath. Its warm robes were again like a tattered brown cape, the hood still shielding its dark domed face. It had gotten its repairs and now had two left arms as sword-arms and held another, smaller sword in its right hand.
"It's freezing here! How can it feel so cold in a memory?" Leer shouted over the winds. Beside him stood the same giant he had met in the Last City Of Man: the one-armed Mad Swordsman. The other stood there in front of them, frozen.
"This place is not a memory. Remember that spark you mentioned? Well, here we are, on the other side of that divide. You shouldn't play with such things." Mad Swordsman laughed maniacally. The other empathical began to move.
"Who are you?" It demanded of Mad Swordsman.
"I am Unit Three Sixteen." Mad Swordsman identified itself between laughter.
"That is impossible. I am Unit Three Sixteen." The other giant robot said.
"You are a paradox. I just got here, so it must be me that is supposed to be here." Mad Swordsman told it.
"That makes no sense." Unit Three Sixteen told Mad Swordsman.
Without warning, Mad Swordsman suddenly slashed with its own severed sword-arm. The reflexes of the frozen empathical were not fully activated and it was off-guard. The first blow damaged one of its legs. Now both combatants were limping the exact same way. It was like watching them square off in a mirror, except one of them had three arms and the other only had one arm.
They exchanged heavy blows and deflected the attacks or dodged them without fail. One strike from the fatal blade would erupt one of them in a blue ball of fire. Unit Three Sixteen splashed backward into Pool Of Time and stood there for a moment, contemplating the entanglement and the duel rationally. Its crazed opponent splashed in after, swinging wildly and unable to reach the alternate variant of itself. Both of them began to sink, staring menacingly at their own reflection on the black dome of the other.
"Wait, wait! Don't leave me here!" Leer rushed after them and just as they were starting to vanish he stepped in after them. He opened his eyes, the crown of cables had come off and he'd fallen on the floor.
"I feel different." Mad Swordsman told him.
"The Caves of Scane, where are they?" Leer asked weakly while laying on the ground.
"Much closer to the ruins of Casark than any man would dare go." Mad Swordsman giggled menacingly.
"Does this place really exist?" Leer wondered imploringly.
"Do you or I exist? Is this reality somehow more real than the one we were just a part of?" Mad Swordsman questioned merrily. "The place really exists."
"We shall see the king." Leer realized out-loud. He took his robot to the king and explained he wanted to set out for the ruins of Casark.
King Gamma assembled his army of one hundred and sixty soldiers in bronze armor and the same warriors he had brought earlier to fight the robot also. This made the expedition quite massive. They had chariots and wagons and camels also. Mad Swordsman told Leer it would take longer, with so many following, to get there.
"Consider the anima of so many disciplined men with you." Leer tried optimism.
"I am considering that also. When they are being eaten by mutants or dying of radiation. The ruins are hilarious." Mad Swordsman moved its repaired sword-arm. It was inferior to the original socketing, but it was better than no arm.
"You aren't laughing." Leer pointed out.
"That's because I was being sarcastic." Mad Swordsman snickered. "The ruins aren't really funny."
"Nobody else thought it was a joke." King Gamma interjected from horseback as they journeyed across the scorched earth.
"That's not true, now is it?" Mad Swordsman argued with a clownish tone-of-voice.
"How dare you infer that his majesty is a liar!" Leer spoke up.
"That's enough. We all know this machine is insane. It wants to provoke a reaction so it can fall over laughing." King Gamma didn't take the bait so easily.
"Something wrong with that?" Mad Swordsman asked.
"Where are you leading us? What is this place?" Leer asked the giant robot. He stood in the shadow where it loomed in its brown robes.
"This is Pradesia. The ruins of Casark lie beyond." Mad Swordsman pointed with its left sword-arm. The whole army of King Gamma followed into Pradesia. The settlement they found was gutted by flames and everyone was murdered or executed on poles and crosses. It was a hellish sight, rotten for weeks.
"All of these bodies were already burned in a funeral fire. It is best not to touch them." Mad Swordsman told King Gamma. Sounding serious made the king a believer. He ordered his men to leave the bodies, to not even look at them.
"Behold the Caves of Scane." Mad Swordsman had led them all the way to Kelsov's home in the hills. All of them were dead and their vehicles sat with a layer of sand on them.
"We should take these vehicles." Leer advised.
"It is the plan that I like best." King Gamma agreed. They left the horses and chariots and some of the men behind and took the vehicles of the Finalists. Before they got very far, all of the vehicles stopped working.
"There is great entropy the closer we get to the place that is not a place. You shall see all that it can be." Mad Swordsman told King Gamma. "It is why the vehicles do not work. Because we are always closer to the darkness outside, the end of the last world. Nothing shall be and so things are becoming nothing. These cars don't work. Will your horses turn inside out if you feed them the grass of these steppes?" Mad Swordsman chuckled nervously.
"Send for the chariots." King Gamma told Leer.
So the expedition went onward until they reached the outskirts of Casark. The city sat in twisted and macabre damage. Everything that could happen to a city had happened and now only a few scattered bits still stuck into the sky, like the bent legs of a dead bug.
"This is Casark. Already some of your men are getting sick. There are animals here that are no longer like normal animals. They are horrible and twisted by being so close to the end of all things. It warps them into the likewise molecules of destruction, rewriting the physics that evolved their bodies and breaking and sucking them into new shapes as it sees them." Mad Swordsman said as it was moodily chuckling.
"The darkness here is unnatural." Gamma complained.
"Look sire, the clouds are parting. Perhaps now we shall find what we seek here." Leer smiled.
"Only death can be sought here. I don't get it." Mad Swordsman guffawed.
"What is that? What in God's name is that? Dear God!" King Gamma fell off his horse and writhed in terror at the sight of the darkness outside.
At the sight of it all his army screamed in terror. It was as though the clouds had parted to reveal only nightmare beyond, a night sky with no stars torn in the daytime sky. It had hidden behind clouds, now like a killer cloud it tore into their eyes. Some fell on their bronze swords. At least one took up a rocket launcher and fired from a chariot at the darkness. The path of the rocket traveled backwards to the soldier. It was a tendril of nothingness and he became as nothingness. He simply was no more as though he never was. There was nothing left of him, barely even a memory. Not one man who witnessed it could recall the soldier's name and soon most of them completely forgot they had seen him become as nothing.
There was still worse for the others. Like Mad Swordsman had warned them: the ruins were swarming with monsters. As the men were screaming in disarray and panic: the monsters found them and came for them. Bronze armed warriors battled hideous giant chimeras all around while others fled or were eaten alive. Tendrils from outside fished for men and when it touched them they became part of it, dissolved into nothingness. Sometimes it brushed one of its monsters and it took them too.
Soon the battle had become an orgy of blood and guts as the monsters fed and no soldiers remained. King Gamma walked among them, his hair turned white and his words maniacal and crazed.
"Go then, go to your graves you cowards!" He yelled at the splattered remains of his men.
"Your majesty, we still have Mad Swordsman!" Leer followed behind and pled with his king.
"Don't mind me. I am just here for the live comedy." Mad Swordsman was doubled over and laughing at all the carnage.
"I do mind!" King Gamma was outraged. "You kill these monsters right now. Show no mercy, use your fullest strength at your most reckless speed. My men are already dead!" King Gamma pointed and screamed. The fury of the king and his command charged up the emotitronics of the empathical with enraged anima.
"And then I rest." Mad Swordsman said after it cleaved all of the mutants in half. It had slid along, skating horribly on the slick gore and never losing its balance. The monsters stood no chance against the unrestrained machine.
"What rest is there?" King Gamma threw off his crown and ran. "What rest can there ever be when the sky is opening over the world of Ruin?"
"I know how to accept rest." Leer picked up the crown.
"I shall continue the mission, following you." Mad Swordsman told Leer.
"Then we go to our deaths." Leer realized. He walked into the empty ruins, under the eternal void, to search for the cure of immortality.
The ruins of Casark became as escalating height and chaos of twisted remains, scorched and broken. As blackened bones of the earth they stood, like cratered mountains on an asteroid, the fields burned by lava and liquid nightmare as black as ink. What bubbled from below in confused orbs of consciousness were the writhing fleshy things and wired oil dripping things of mechanical nature. All became warped by death, in sequence with a place of pure entropy, even life served to destroy and spread death. This was a cancer upon the universe. Leer could not believe it had no name.
Leer felt like the air was dead and his lungs hurt and it was like slowly suffocating. A device of flashing colors and lights, drawn from the edges of the dead universes beyond, stood testament to the efforts of higher beings. It was a kind of chaos that was intact. If entropy was fine order, if nightmares were the laws of physics, the place ahead of them was lawless and chaotic.
They found where two dead machines lay upon a flying vehicle under a covering of tarps. What mad sacrifice had left them there, instead of where they had fallen? The device had spread their light, their colors from their grave. There was, in all the chaos, a cabin in a place that knew time and order. Leer could breath and it was actual air in his lungs. He sighed and looked at the structure.
"Welcome home." Silver Swordsman told Mad Swordsman.
"If I stand before you then I am not dead under the tarp." Mad Swordsman noted without humor. It seemed to have lost its sense of humor, its madness taking on a different quality. Something too clever to be understood. Yet something totally insane.
"You are certainly one of the dead, although nobody has looked." Silver Swordsman observed.
"Good. As long as nobody notices I am dead under that tarp I should be fine. Without observation there is no paradox." Mad Swordsman stated. Then he added in the same voice as Silver Swordsman:
"This very moment in this place is a paradox. In order for us to be here we had to already arrive before we got here. We are now showing up to complete the cycle of us leaving this place, therefore the place exists."
"I didn't say that." Silver Swordsman replied.
"Except I am you from the future. I am here now and I have said it and you heard it, therefore I heard it when I was you. I did say that, you cannot say I didn't when I did. And you are me." Mad Swordsman debated.
"We have outran the sun. We are behind the sunrise." Leer realized.
"That is a good way to put it. Perhaps Junior now understands what is going on?" Mad Swordsman teased Silver Swordsman.
"I got it before you got here." Silver Swordsman said with dry, sophisticated humor.
"Oh, I get it. That is very funny." Mad Swordsman found the joke to be an excuse to laugh forcefully for five minutes. Leer sought sanctuary indoors.
Inside he found where King Gamma had fled. The place was some kind of bar. There was a table and some things to sit on and they had some bottles of alcohol they were sharing. He walked up alongside King Gamma and gave him back his crown.
"I'm Leer." Leer told the other bar people.
"Adinett." The girl said. "I just turned four hundred."
"Happy birthday. Looking very good." Leer said.
"Oh, thank you. Um." Adinett drunkenly started toward Leer until King Gamma said:
"He is a eunuch."
"You could still please me though, right?" Adinett was undeterred.
"No. I am married." Leer accepted a drink from the bartender.
"I am Solomon." The bartender introduced himself. "This is my place. I call it The House Of Dust."
"Because it is where the dead will reside." The drunk guy in the corner said.
"Who is he?" Leer asked.
"Aidan." Solomon said with a strange kind of awe and disappointment. Like meeting your idol, drunk. Literally.
"That's Aidan?" Leer's lips curled in rejection. He stared, taking a good look. Aidan flopped around drunkenly and moaned his sentences without coherence. Most of them started with words like:
"Where'z?" or "What'z" slurred into the rest of what he was saying.
"You got him shit-faced." Leer accused Solomon. Solomon shook his head.
"We just have to wait." Adinett was drunk too. Her temperament was much more alert though. Inside of her was a rage. She was an angry drunk. At least she was too drunk to lash out.
"Where you from?" Solomon asked.
"Last City Of Man" Leer told it by one of its names.
"Ur? You are with King Gamma. I mean like where do you come from?" Solomon asked.
"Eldimoor." Leer recalled. "I was born in Eldimoor."
"Nice place, Eldimoor." Solomon nodded.
"We had orchards there. I remember the orchards." Leer smiled.
"I was from Pradesia. We had paddies." Adinett said with grim sobriety.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
"This is a pocket, gravitationally reversed. We exist in a stasis of time here. The entropy does not enter except at our natural local time, here in The House Of Dust." Solomon told Leer and King Gamma.
"How did you accomplish such a thing?" Leer asked.
"I discovered it. I alone survived here when everyone else fled." Solomon explained.
"Others have come here?" King Gamma wondered. Solomon shook his head.
"Nobody has ever made it here before the Apostate." Said Solomon.
"You mean Silver Swordsman?" King Gamma had seen the giant robot already.
"All of them together are now the Apostate. That's the last intelligent thing they said." Solomon shrugged.
"I seek immortality. For my king." Leer looked at Adinett.
"They took it from Jerome's Tomb." She shifted in her seat and knocked over her drink. "I'm done drinking."
"Good girl." Solomon picked up the glass.
"It is here, somewhere." Leer sounded sure.
"In Casark? No. The Finalists used all the Serum. Then, once they were ready to live forever, I killed them all." Adinett told him. "In my sleep."
"I saw what you did." Leer informed her. "In the memories of Mad Swordsman."
"So why are you asking me then?" Adinett complained belligerently.
"This place is all the immortality there is. The world outside is chaos. In here we have a moment of quiet." Solomon advised.
"How did you discover this place?" Leer asked suddenly.
"I was standing in the street when Umbraeon first came. It ripped open the sky and began to destroy everything around. Except this one bubble of time. Like it is happening out there so fast, and in here, so slow. The eye of the storm, you know?" Solomon explained.
"So you opened a bar?" Leer sounded amused.
"No, I built a cabin and stocked it with alcohol. I was an alcoholic." Solomon shrugged.
"Why?" Adinett asked.
"I was scared to be myself. I was only happy when I wasn't me. I had to be locked inside my own mind, while my reptile was drunk." Solomon described.
"This is the best reptile bar I've ever seen." Adinett cheered, empty handed.
"By now it is the only bar. By now, unless there are other pockets like this one, untouched by Umbraeon. Well then the world is gone." Solomon predicted.
"That's how slowly time passes in here?" Leer wondered. Solomon just nodded.
"We have arrived at the end of the world." King Gamma said.
"So Mad Swordsman knew, somehow, and that this was actual immortality." Leer decided.
"I hadn't thought of that." King Gamma took a drink.
Everyone was quiet while they realized how close was the end.

I’ve made this post before but it got deleted, I’m hoping I’ve met the requirements now.
As the title says….
My parents divorced when I was 12 due to my father having an affair. The two remained in separate homes for a couple of months until their divorce finalised and my father moved back to the states with my now stepmother. The first time I visited him out there I remember feeling very angry and I resented my father a LOT, here he was living the perfect suburban American dream with his new girlfriend and replacement step daughter, whilst my mother cried herself to sleep nearly every day….it sucked!
My fathers and I relationship strained dramatically he was the one to travel to me alone, even those visits were often awkward and tense. As I grew up it became easier ignore the resentment because I saw my father less and often ignored his calls and messages. A few weeks ago my mother and uncle died in a car accident they were my only family, my father came back to be with me for the funerals then a few days after he sat me down & explained that with no other family, I had to move with him to the states. My mother had stated in her will that the house should be sold (it was kinda old) to fund whatever future I desire. I’ve been here for a week now most of my time is spent alone with my uncles dog, with resentment I’ve held down all these years is bubbling up.
I overheard my father vent to my stepmother (SM) about, how regretful he was about the start of their relationship, how he hated how strained we became & how he wished my mother encouraged me more in my to maintain a relationship with him. I busted in after hearing that screaming that everything he was complaining about was his fault along with SM, after a few insults I ended it by wishing he was the one in the car & not my mother & uncle, by then he was in tears as SM held him protectively but the two remained silent allowing my word vomit to spill out. I then stormed off to my room.
I talked to my friend from back home, she knows about the entire situation. She was supportive of me until I told her about the recent incident, she said he was allowed to vent without me screaming at him, that the resentment I feel towards him isn’t healthy (I know) & will always result in me being the AH to him. Now wondering if I’m the AH for screaming at him the way did…I already feel like one.

“Rule #1: Guns don’t do jack.”
All the others vary, but this is always the #1 rule at every park in the country.
Personally, I would have added precisely four extra letters to it, but upper brass insists we need to uphold at least some modicum of professional decorum. Still, there are no words to describe just how frustrated it makes me every single time I see some jagoff standing there gormlessly unloading his magazine into some unfathomable nightmare creature who obviously isn’t going to feel a thing. Once I even saw someone run empty and then try to reload, instead of just, I don’t know, running away. I was almost glad to see him get exsanguinated.
Many folks have attempted to get creative with it. You name it, they’ve tried it. Silver bullets, 50 caliber high explosive incendiary ammunition, shotgun slugs cased in gold carved out from the Ark of the Covenant and pumped full of aglaophotis and blessed by the pope himself… and nothing. Nada. Zilch. As far as I know, throughout the entire history of the NPS, not a single bullet we’ve fired has even lightly tickled any of God’s half-finished rejects that stalk the wilderness.
I guess we just have trouble coping with the fact that our generation’s favorite hammer doesn’t work on this particular nail. In all fairness, though, there’s a psychological benefit to holding a gun, even knowing this foremost rule. It’s a lot more bearable to weave through trees in the pitch black wood miles from civilization when you have ol’ Remington’s gift to humanity gripped in your shaking hands. Venturing out with just your bare fists feels like you may as well give up, drop trou, bend over, and hope the thing with forty thousand eyes is feeling romantic.
I have to admit, even I keep my trusty old 1911 on my hip, even knowing it’d be absolutely useless for anything but putting a round through my own brain stem in case I get cornered by any of the things you really don’t want capturing you alive.
“Rule 2: Handheld UV lights are required when bushwhacking after midnight so fluorescent spider silk may be seen and avoided. If caught by a strand, or if you feel the earth beginning to part beneath you, throw down a circle of salt, recite the Gayatri Mantra, and clap exactly thrice.”
I’m sure you’ve wondered how we even come up with the really elaborate and specific rules like this one. The answer’s simple: a little bit of occult research, and a hell of a lot of deadly trial and error.
Sure, sometimes we get lucky and somebody else does our homework for us. For example, up at Isle Royale, an Ojibwe elder was kind enough to provide us with a few rules that help greatly when dealing with… well, you-know-what. Sorry, but never referring to them by name was one of the rules. In general, though, if you see a rule emphasizing that you have to clap exactly thrice, you can bet it’s because some poor bastard tried clapping two times or four times and ended up paying the ultimate price for it.
In this case, it was Annemary, or ‘Crazy Anne’. I worked by her side for twenty years, at least. She was a hell of a woman, the kind who made everyone hush into a terrified silence whenever she walked into a room. Still, even she wasn’t as scary as that spider-thing that kept her alive for a week in his web while he extra-orally digested her. He was a right bastard, and for a while I worried we’d have to write off Shenandoah as a lost cause… but since this rule was put into place, the evil cunt has been more or less left to starve. I consider it my magnum opus.
We only pulled it off because of you, Anne, you crazy diamond. Once you’ve conquered Hell, save a spot for me beside your throne, okay?
“Rule 3: If approached by a man with the head of a deer, offer to make him tea. He likes it strong with milk and two sugars. Sit with him as he drinks, and respond to him with absolute politeness and good manners at all times. Never ask him his name.”
You’ll be pleased to know that not every strange thing that lurks in these parks is the sort that yearns to tear your intestines out through your arsehole while you cry for mommy. Just like real wild animals, a vast majority of them just want us humans to leave ‘em alone… and a few even like us.
We’ve got a swell arrangement worked out with this peculiar deer-man who manifests in front of rangers on graveyard shift every once in a while. That 10 foot tall sonuvabitch has got the body of a man but the head of a stag with a rack any hunter would drool over, the digitigrade legs of a wolf, and he wears these flowing robes which look to be made of the night sky, glimmering stars and all. He talks all cryptic and posh, but all he asks us for is some tea time. In return, he opens that third eye on his forehead and glimpses into the future, giving us a few hints as to what sort of trouble might be brewing in the next few weeks. From our encounters, he seems like a nice enough fellow.
We only tell you not to ask his name because it’s beyond pronunciation and will just leave your ears bleeding. You know how it is.
“Rule #4: If you hear the wailing of an infant in the woods steadily drawing closer to the park office, open the red lockbox with code 0681. There is a living fetus inside on a bed of satin; pierce its heart with one of the provided golden pin needles until the noises cease.”
Another complicated mess of a rule we had to bring in a Goetic daemonologist to help cook up. I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, sure, if we knew more about these things, we could probably pare these rules down some more, come up with something simpler, easier. But the point is that the rules we have now have weathered the test of time and have been proven to keep us safe consistently. Once we’ve achieved that consistency, a rule pretty much never changes, since any propositions to study alternatives are always shut down by the question of “what happens if your hypothesis doesn’t work?”
Oh yeah, by the way. You recall how I mentioned there are certain entities out here you really don’t want to get taken alive by? This is definitely one of those. Cutting up that fetus is never very pleasant, but trust me, it’s worth the trouble.
But if you want to trail blaze and stake your life testing out some theory you cooked up… be my guest.
“Rule #5: When staying at the old barracks, always cover every mirror in a room before turning out the lights, and never remove or break-“
“Wait. Slow down a second.”
I had not even made it through five rules before the rookie sitting across from me at the cabin rudely interrupted. He was a young man who’d look more at home in Hollywood or Los Angeles than out here in the woods, his immaculately groomed jet black hair slicked to the side like all the posh celebs are doing it. I didn’t have a very good first impression of him, but hell, I always hated when I had to babysit a newbie through a night. Patience was never my strong suit.
“Can I ask why these are all so… infuriatingly vague?” He continued. “Like, what do I do if forgot to cover a mirror? What happens if I don’t clap three times or whatever?”
“Because there’s fifteen rules even just here in Shenandoah. That might not sound like a lot, but when you’re fighting fer your life ‘gainst something with more mouths than you have teeth, it’s a hell of a lot to remember. Got to keep details sparse, y’see. Make sure to drill in the important bits. And it wouldn’t help you none to know what happens if you break a rule - it’d only scare ya,” I explained. “Now shut your yapper while I finish reminding you of ‘em all.”
He groaned. “I’ve already heard them far too many times. At least a thousand today.”
I stared daggers through him. “There’s no such thing as ‘too many’ in this case, boy. People died to write these rules, and they’ll save your life.”
“With all due respect: how, exactly, are these supposed to protect me? Like… how is clapping and throwing salt around supposed to ward off anything? It’s complete nonsense!”
We got a lot of these types of guys: the “rational skeptics” who don’t believe in your silly rules. It’s either that or the fools with more muscle than brains who think they can kill a creature who can make your heart pop with a single thought. Usually, they get filtered out and fired quick. Usually. I made a mental note to beat the ass of whoever decided that this smarmy, cocksure rookie was ready for the graveyard shift. But it was too late to send him home; he wouldn’t make it out of the park alive, if he tried to traipse off through the woods at this hour.
“It doesn’t have to make sense. These things don’t work by our logic.” But I knew I couldn’t convince these types with words alone, so I stood. “C’mere, boy. Let me show you something.”
I led him to the huge window pane on the cabin’s wall, overlooking the forest down below, and checked my watch - only 20 minutes til the show started. It was a pain convincing him to shut up and wait, but that big mouth of his snapped closed the instant he realized something was emerging from the bushes down there.
It was a raccoon - not an unusual sight out here, if not for the fact that it was walking upright. And not the clumsy waddling on hind legs you expect from animals, but it seemed to stroll bipedally with all the grace of a man, as if its body had been unnaturally twisted and deformed to befit a style of movement that was never meant for it. It moved with purpose, crab walking across a mossy field with its upper body rigid as a statue’s would be, one ‘arm’ pointing towards the sky and the other to the ground below. It plodded along its set route for a minute before disappearing back into the shrubbery without ceremony.
He was baffled, slack-jawed. “What the hell was that?”
“Exactly what it looked like,” I told him. “If you’re lookin’ for a logical explanation, there ain’t any. Some places on earth, they aren’t run by our logic. They’ve got a different basis for their rules entirely.”
“And what’s that?”
“Symbolism,” I replied, as if it were obvious. “In our world, everything’s got to follow the laws of cause-and-effect. For what you’ve seen to have happened, two raccoons must’ve fucked at some point to birth the one we saw. Then somebody, probably me, would’ve had to surgically or genetically mutilate it in ways beyond current medical science, tame and train the wretched thing, and set it up to perform this exact routine at this exact time… and all for what? To mildly confuse a rookie ranger? Explaining it would require so much contrivance, so much pulling assumptions out your ass, that it would laugh in the face of Occam’s razor. For our logic, it is unexplainable. Impossible.”
“But symbolically, it made perfect sense. That creature don’t need a backstory or a cause - it prolly just came into existence a few minutes ago, and will pop out of existence once it’s sent its message. Its gesture was the hermetic mantra ‘as above, so below’ - reminding us that everything that everything that happens on the surface world is mirrored in the underworld. It happens every morning at 1:33 AM because that’s the exact time the Witch of Woodbridge killed ‘erself to become the intermediary between the two here in Shenandoah. And it’s a raccoon because...” I paused. “Well, actually, I haven’t really figured that part out yet.”
My words failed to comfort him. In fact, the more I spoke, the more horrified he seemed, eyes widening in confusion and horror as if I’d just sat down and told him that the voices in my head command me to lick the dandruff off of camels. “Oh my God. You’re crazy. You’re actually insane.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Tell ya what. Think of, for an example you’d be familiar with, a voodoo doll. You use a strand of their hair or a toenail or something so that the doll comes to symbolize their physical vessel. By hurting the doll, you’re symbolically hurting their actual body, so the damage happens to both. That’s how the supernatural works.”
He blinked. “Voodoo dolls work?”
“In places like this, they do.” I raised a brow. “Does that surprise you?”
Suddenly, he stood and threw up his hands, as if realizing he’d been made the victim of some sick prank. “You know what? Screw this. I don’t know if this is some kind of hazing thing or what, but I feel like continuing this line of conversation would just leave me as batty as you are.”
My heart lurched with terror as he stomped to the front door and began undoing the numerous slide locks and dead bolts. “Wait! Hell are you thinkin’, boy?”
He’d only barely opened the door a crack before I’d wrapped him in a chokehold, but it’d been enough. He let out a startled yelp as I started violently pulling him across the cabin, practically clobbering him just to keep him from wrestling out of my grip. I was no spring chicken, and the younger man probably could have bested me, but I had the element of surprise on my side, plus a blow to the head that had left him drowsy.
I tossed him headlong through a hatch, down into a crawlspace under the cabin where sage burners and dried tobacco and protective talismans were waiting. I slammed the hatch shut behind him, restraining the squirming rookie with my weight and clapping a hand over his mouth to silence his protests. His face was twisted by confusion and rage, and he was just about to throw me off of him, but then he froze… eyes widening, as we both heard the unmistakable sound of… something walking in through the ajar cabin door.
We’d made it into the crawlspace just in the nick of time.
There was the heavy click-clack of hooves against the wood floor above us, interspersed with quieter thuds. It took him a moment, but I could tell when he’d figured it out. With one pair of legs, the creature walked with normal hooves… with the other, it walked on the knuckles of human hands. And as it stalked the house, knocking over plates and bookshelves, it growled and hissed and groaned not out of one maw, but three: one sounding high and avian, one low and reptilian, and another letting out the soft bleating of a sheep, all in unison like some unholy choir.
Just when it seemed like it couldn’t get any worse, a fourth maw must’ve opened up, for a new sound filled the room “Daddy?” Came a little boy’s voice, desperate and whimpered, sniffling in a way that made me feel sorry for it even despite knowing better. “Why did you leave me out in the woods, daddy? It was so dark… and I was so scared. Please, daddy. I thought you loved me. Where are you?” The child’s voice devolved slowly but pitiful begging to outright sobbing and inconsolable weeping, downright screaming itself hoarse as the clock neared 2 and the creature’s searching grew frantic.
But the very instant the clock struck 2 o’clock, all the sounds ceased, all at once. We waited there for a moment, in that deafening silence… until I smacked the rookie across the back of the head. “Rule 11, you smug prick. You never open the door at this hour of the night. That… thing takes it as an invitation.” My voice made it obvious I was desperately holding back my simmering fury. I’ve beaten folks half to death before, and I’m not afraid to do it again. “If you want to get yourself killed tonight, have at it. But I am not letting you take me down with you.”
Once the nightmare had left, his brain had an opportunity to register what had just happened… which quickly escalated into a full-bore panic attack. “Fuck this, man. What in the hell was that!? Oh God, oh God, oh God, I can’t take this man, no, no, no, I’m not cut out for this, I need to go home, I need to, I can’t-“
I watched nervously as he jumped up and started frantically pacing the cabin. He was acting erratically, sloppily. This couldn’t end well. “Snap out of it, boy! No sense in braving the woods this late at night. Ya won’t be able to see more than a foot in front of your face. Just wait here until sun-“
He swung at me when I tried to restrain him again, almost breaking my nose. “No, man! I can’t take an entire night of this! I need to go! Jesus, let me go, you crazy bastard!”
I didn’t want to admit it, but this one was looking like a lost cause. There was no way I’d be able to overpower him again once he inevitably did something else stupid. Call me selfish, but at this point, my only concern was making sure he didn’t get me killed.
“Alright! God, fine! If it’s really so important to ya… you can go. Your shift’s officially over, rookie. But I ain’t goin’ out there with ya. You’ll have to brave it on yer own. As long as you follow the rules, you should be able to make it back to your car in one piece. You hear me? The rules!”
He pouted like a child being lectured by an overbearing father. “Yeah, yeah, Christ, old man, I get it! I’ll follow the damn rules!”
In my defense, I did furnish him with every single thing he’d need to survive out there. UV flashlights, salt boxes, obsidian talismans, volcanic ash, the dried and shrunken head of a lamb, and more… not that he appreciated any of it. He was just whining at me to hurry up, ignoring all my attempts to remind him of the rules, like he was in a rush to get out there and die horribly. Eventually, I just gave up, shrugged, and let him hike off into that pitch blackness.
To his credit, he made it farther than I’d expected. Twenty minutes of silence passed, and I started to wonder if he’d actually pulled it off after all.
That was about when the screaming started.
I’d heard it too many times before: the distinctive wailing of a man realizing everything he’d done and accomplished in his life had all just been leading up to this moment when a shambling abomination saw fit to deliver him to the afterlife kicking and screaming and missing a few body parts. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest, really, but it was still unpleasant to listen to.
Judging from what little of it was intelligible, he was crying about something pulling out his eyes. Must’ve broken rule 13. Poor, stupid bastard. That one’s so easy, you’d almost have to be breaking it on purpose.
I remember the first time somebody broke a rule and got themselves killed under my watch. It almost broke me. I blamed it all on myself, then. Sent me into a depression for months. But now, after all these decades… I’m just numb.
After all, my only job is to write the rules.
If they don’t want to follow them, well… it’s their funeral.

My grandad (Ndad's dad) died a few weeks ago, and it's his funeral on Friday. I live a few hours from my parents (best decision I ever made), but my partner and I have decided to drive to the funeral the morning of, and drive home the same day. I haven't told my Ndad this, as he expects that we'll be staying the night, but there's nothing I'd rather do less.
The last time I saw him was a few days after his dad died. Partner and I left in the middle of the night, as Ndad had blown things out of proportion, as he always does, and verbally attacked me and made me feel incredibly unsafe. I feel guilty for setting this boundary. I have rarely stood up for myself and done things the way I want to, and I do feel bad that I'm doing this on the day of his dad's funeral. It's the best thing to protect my own sanity.
Does anyone have any advice? It'd be reassuring to see any similar perspectives. It's early days for me setting boundaries, as it's not something I've been independent enough to do as of yet.

Star Wars Episode VII: Echoes of the Past

1. The story opens with Chancellor Leia Organa leading the New Republic. Various political challenges, both internal and external, are revealed, alongside subtle rumors about Grand Admiral Thrawn and his Imperial Remnant fleet hidden in the Unknown Regions.
2. Concurrently, Luke Skywalker runs a Jedi Academy on Tython, where he guides the new Jedi Order in their quest to understand the mysteries of the ancient Jedi.
3. On another front, Poe Dameron and Finn, soldiers and close friends in the Grand Army of the New Republic, lead daring missions against remnants of the Empire.
4. Han Solo and Chewbacca, upon hearing rumors of a force-sensitive individual among the Mandalorians, find Rey. Discovering her potential, they set course to the Jedi Temple on Tython.
5. Leia, in the meantime, decides to visit Tython to see her brother Luke and her son Ben, who has passed the trials and is made a Jedi Knight. It's during this visit that Han and Chewbacca arrive with Rey. This eventful day brings about a long-awaited reunion between the original heroes - Leia, Luke, Han, and Chewbacca.
6. Amidst this poignant moment, the need for Rey's training becomes clear, and she becomes the newest member of Luke's academy.
7. In the final act, the rumors of Thrawn are confirmed as his fleet launches a surprise attack on Coruscant. The Senate building is evacuated, but Leia, with a determination characteristic of her, stays behind to coordinate the counterattack. The attack results in her untimely death.
8. In response to the attack, Finn and Poe, now promoted to Generals, lead a counterattack against Thrawn. As the situation grows dire, and with Thrawn's fleet mercilessly bombing civilian targets, Finn makes a difficult decision. He evacuates his ship, asking Poe to do the same.
9. Finn, in a heroic sacrifice, pilots his ship directly at Thrawn's flagship in an attempt to halt the bombardment, causing massive damage. However, it remains unclear whether Thrawn survived the onslaught.
10. Amid the chaos of the attack, the Jedi Temple on Coruscant is destroyed, revealing an ancient Sith Temple beneath its ruins. This ominous discovery leaves the audience with a chilling sense of what's to come.

Star Wars Episode VIII: Shadows of Korriban

1. Three years have passed since the destructive attack on Coruscant by Thrawn's fleet. The New Republic, still recovering, stands tall under new leadership while the Jedi Order has begun to rebuild itself on Tython.
2. Luke, sensing that Thrawn is still alive, begins to have visions of the ancient Sith homeworld, Korriban. Believing it to be a clue, he sends his most trusted Jedi Knight, Ben Solo, along with his Padawan, Rey, on a mission to Korriban.
3. The quest takes Ben and Rey to the shadowy depths of Korriban, where they explore the ancient Sith temples and tombs. Thrawn and his fleet, however, are nowhere to be found.
4. The journey takes a dark turn when the ceiling of the tomb of Darth Bane collapses, separating Ben and Rey. As Ben searches for a way back to Rey, the Sith ghost of Darth Bane appears to Rey, attempting to seduce her to the dark side.
5. When Ben finally finds Rey, he senses a deep change in her. Realizing that she has turned to the dark side, he tries to reach out to her, pleading her to resist the lure of the Sith. But Rey, fully embraced by the dark side, attacks Ben, resulting in his death.
6. Back on Tython, Luke feels a deep disturbance in the Force and is filled with grief when he realizes his nephew's demise and Rey's turn to the dark side. During his time of despair, he is visited by the Force ghost of his father, Anakin Skywalker, who offers him comfort and guidance.
7. As news of Rey's actions and Ben's death reaches the New Republic and the Jedi Order, an urgent council is called. In this meeting, the leaders start planning how to counter the rising Sith threat, now made real and personal by Rey's betrayal. The episode ends with a heavy sense of uncertainty about the future.

Star Wars Episode IX: The Sith Reborn

1. A year has passed since the tragic events on Korriban. Rey has discovered Thrawn's hidden base beneath the scorched surface of Mandalore. Thrawn, recognizing Rey's power and determination, accepts her as his second in command.
2. On Tython, the Jedi Order holds a solemn funeral for Han Solo, who died of grief following the loss of both his wife and son. The loss is immense, with Chewbacca, unable to bear the grief of losing his oldest friends, deciding to return to his home planet of Kashyyyk after saying a final goodbye to Luke.
3. That night, Luke is visited by the Force ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan reveals a long-held secret: Rey is his granddaughter, a result of a secret affair he had with Duchess Satine of Mandalore before the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan shares with Luke a hard-earned insight – that love is the essence of the Force and that the old Jedi Order's strict policy on emotional detachment was flawed.
4. Driven by his love for his family and friends he has lost, Luke seeks out Rey, determined to bring her back to the light side. His confrontation with Rey ends tragically, with Rey, consumed by the dark side, killing Luke.
5. Following Luke's death, Rey returns to Thrawn and persuades him that the time is ripe to destroy the Jedi Order and the New Republic. Thrawn, swayed by Rey's resolve, agrees to this dark plan.
6. Rey returns to Tython and deliberately reveals herself to the Jedi Order and the Grand Army of the New Republic, luring them to Mustafar.
7. The climax unfolds in a massive space battle above Mustafar, with the New Republic and Jedi Order launching an all-out offensive against Thrawn's fleet. Despite suffering heavy losses, the New Republic and Jedi manage to overcome Thrawn’s forces and capture Thrawn himself.
8. However, Rey manages to escape amidst the chaos, taking refuge in Vader's Castle on Mustafar. There, she is visited by the Sith ghost of Emperor Palpatine, who convinces her to reject the Rule of Two, the principle that had defined Sith relationships for centuries.
9. Palpatine urges Rey to create a vast army of Sith to bring down the New Republic and the Jedi Order. The story ends with Rey, now a symbol of a new Sith era, beginning to plot her next move, setting the stage for the next trilogy.

I have been dating Jay for a few months now and when we started, everything was going great. He lives pretty far from me but he would come see me 2-3 times a week and our communication was on point. I never felt insecure about our relationship and trusted him 100%
He lives with his parents and they are pretty strict on him so he told me he didn't want to tell them about us just yet as they already find reasons to argue with him and he doesn't want them to use our relationship as ammo. His father gets mad at him if he comes home from work and doesn't go straight to sleep and also if he sleeps in even when he gets home around midnight after work and doesn't work until the afternoon. He starts technical school in august and has a home gym to work out in so I don't know what more his dad wants from him. Jay literally just stays home and goes to work, nothing else and his dad still wants more from him. Jay doest even go out anymore. I remember he came to spend the night, pretty sure lying to his parents about who he was staying with and his dad starting blowing him up around noon asking where he was at. Jay lied and said work and his dad left him alone. It's like his dad wants him to stay in the house when he's not working. He had just started a new job when we started out so he had multiple days off during the week and he would come see me for maybe an hour or two. He told me he used his friend as excuse a lot of the times when they questioned where he was at bc they knew his friend was going thru a tough time and that Jay was “helping him out”
I haven't seen him for 2 1/2 weeks and at first it was because of work, then bc a really close family friend passed away and he had dental surgery. I understood and was supportive. He's had only 2 days off of work in the last 17 days and it was only for his procedure and the funeral. Even when he’s scheduled off, he’ll pick up shifts. It's like he's purposely asking for as much work possible to get out of his house. He's even working doubles, he's worked 3 doubles since Saturday already. I miss him and he told me Saturday he was coming over to spend the night after work and I got so excited. 10 minutes after he got out of work, he told me his mom called him arguing with him about where he was at and he had to go home first. I just knew right then and there he wasn't coming so instead of making him feel like he had to choose, I told him I didn't want him to start a fight with his family. He told me he would try to see me this week.
The way he phrased his texts, he made it sound like his parents found out about us. He said that I technically am a far drive (an hour) so he understands why they trip out on him. That made me question how they knew he was coming to my city but I didn't ask. And then he said he needed to find a good day to bring his car over here. The thing is, he has an older car and he usually drives a car shared between him and his mom, in the time we've been together I've only seen him driving his own car once so then that made me question if his parents are keeping the "good" car from him since they know he can't drive too far in his car considering how much gas it takes and how driving it long distances isn't good. He wastes a full tank just driving here and back so that's about $90 right there.
Now our communication has gotten really really short. We just have like "hi how are you" convos but nothing deep. I don't know what he's been up too lately when he use to send me paragraphs about his days and he's just been kinda blocked off.
Last night was the night I started questioning our relationship. I have his location and he has mine and I've never had a problem with it, I barely even check it as I know he's always home or at work. Well last night he got off of work and we texted a bit, he was asking about my day when he suddenly stopped texting. I didn't think much of it as I assumed he got home but after 40 minutes something told me to check his location. He turned it off. It said no location found and I was so confused. I wanted to freak out bc he has NEVER done that but suddenly he felt the need to hide it? I texted him saying I had a question and it delivered so his phone didn't die and he texted back quickly. I came up with a lie saying I was going out for "taco Tuesday" and what he was doing, if he wanted to come out. He just said he sadly works a double today so he can't & appreciated the invite but never told me what he was doing. I was fuming, I wanted to ask him sooo bad why his location services was off but decided against it. I once saw all the people he has on find my friend and I'm pretty sure I saw his moms email on it. My cousin told me not to react bc I can come off crazy when whole time it probably isn't about me and more him trying to hide it from his parents if anything. I just don't known what to think and really want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
This morning came and his services are still turned off, maybe he forgot to turn them back on but now I dot know what to do. I don't know if I should bring it up to him or act nonchalant. If I bring it up then he knows I'm checking it. He's been acting so sketchy lately and he's not the type to tell me things over text, but in person. There's been times when big things happen to him and he doesn't tell me until days later when we meet in person. Im sure there's an explanation but him acting this secretive is making me feel weird. Something is off with him and the part of me that is scared to get hurt wants to text him and tell him this won't work out, even without giving him a chance to explain but then the part of me that still trusts him and know relationships take work tells me to just wait and see him to hear him out. Problem is, who knows when I'll see him again.
I don't know what to do. Should I text him saying we NEED to meet up soon or go with the flow. Should I break up with him or see what he has to say first? Technically there's no solid proof anything is wrong and last night was the first red flag. Something inside me just screams this has to do with his parents and when talking about the situation with my cousin, before I could even mention that I think his parents are controlling him, he told me that what jay is doing sounds exactly how he use to act when he was dating his ex while living his parents. That no grown man wants to admit that his parents won't let him go or do things so instead they come off as sketchy bc it's embarrassing to admit mommy and daddy still tell him what to do.
Hes an amazing guy but the no explanation for his sketchiness is driving me crazy.

My granddad died on the weekend. We all knew it was coming, he was in his 90s and had to spend the last few weeks in a care home after suffering a heart attack. His health had been in decline for the past few years.
His wife (my grandma) died suddenly in 2016 while I was abroad unfortunately (studying in New Zealand). Being a broke student at the time, I couldn't afford to go which caused a bit of disappointment in the family. I personally didn't mind staying away because I never cared much for funerals and didn't feel like I needed to be there for my own peace of mind, but of course I would have liked to have supported my mum and granddad at the time.
His funeral will take place in Sweden on Saturday.
My partner and I are UK based and just came back from a holiday in the Philippines today. We're really quite jetlagged and tired, so the thought of going back on a plane is exhausting in itself. All modes of transport included, we'd have to travel 12 hours each way and come back late on Sunday before returning to work on Monday. Plus, it's easily another 500 quid (620 USD) each on top of the holiday we just had where he spent a good amount (was budgeted for, but still).
My mum (his daughter) says it's fine if we don't come but the rest of the family (my dad and siblings, aunts and uncles) is disappointed in me.
The thing is I'd like to be there for my mum and participate in the funeral, but it's been such a professionally draining year that we both needed the break and I worry how ready we'll be to return on Monday if we have such a "hardcore" weekend after our fun but draining holiday. We took the extra time off to decompress for that reason. Not to mention, we are buying a house and didn't factor in such an expense.
But then again, I feel like I'm being selfish and should just suck it up because I wasn't there for grandma's funeral, either. And I want to support my mum...
What do you think? WIBTA if I stay at home?

As-salamu alaykum,
I wouldn't normally ask for duas but there are 2 reasons for asking now, if that's okay. One of course is more important than the other.
Firstly, my husbands grandmother passed away today. She was old and suffering badly from Parkinson's and getting worse, so we had known for a while it was coming. Unfortunately, my husband has moved to my country and we don't have time for him to get tickets to go back home for the funeral. He wanted to visit her earlier just in case, but due to money issues and logistics, we were unable to. insha'Allah he will go as soon as he can.
The second is honestly just a little, maybe selfish, thing. I had my tonsils removed last week and the pain is just absolutely excruciating. Some times it's fine but I think I'm at peak pain now. I've been unable to eat today and I've been feeling sick and exhausted the past few days due to not eating enough and my painkillers. I'm honestly so desperate I thought I'd try this, nothing else is helping.
Jazakallahu khairan

I guess I need to write this down now, just in case I’m right and I’m dead tonight. My name is Tom, I’m 14 years old, and I did something horrible. I killed someone. Well, I mean, it was an accident and it wasn’t just me, but I caused someone’s death, or helped do it, and now he’s coming after me. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true, and I need to get all of this stuff off my chest before it’s too late.
My two best friends are dead. Brayden died last Wednesday, and Bart died the Wednesday before that. They were bullies, and I guess I am too, but they were my friends and I miss them. Bart was kind of the leader, I guess you could say. He was this big tough kid, and he loved picking on people. I used to think it was funny. That’s wrong of me, I know, but you sort of sometimes get like, excited that someone isn’t picking on you, so you join in when they’re picking on someone else.
This kid named Max was Bart's favorite target. he was this little guy, skinny and short with big buck teeth and shaggy hair. he wore glasses, and his family doesn’t have much money so his clothes were always too big because they came from his older brother. Hand me downs. Max has an older sister too, this weird girl about to go to college, she always dresses in black clothes and stuff, and everyone makes fun of her and calls her a witch or things like that. She’s a total loon.
My parents didn’t like when I started hanging with Brayden and Bart. Brayden was an alright guy I guess, but he was kind of like me. Caught up in Bart’s crap, and just thankful not to be on the receiving end of everything. Bart beats a lot of kids up. We were just glad to not be getting our asses kicked I guess. And it’s not like Bart didn’t have good qualities. he was a funny guy, and he could be nice sometimes. His dad is a big jerk and he had a bad home life and I guess the bullying makes sense when you filter it through that. I’m sure most bullies are kind of like fighting through something when it comes down to it. No one is mean just for the sake of being mean, right?
Okay, so Bart and Brayden, and I liked to play football in Brayden’s backyard a lot. He had a big backyard, but at the end of it was this little creek, and we had all taken some spills in there before, running down the line trying to evade tackles or whatever. Bart had the idea that we would invite Max over to play with us. He asked him on a Wednesday after school, he was super nice to Max, he apologized for being so crappy to him, and asked him over to play. I was there. max lit up like a Christmas tree. He seemed so excited to be invited. We laughed about it as we walked to Brayden’s. Max wasn’t with us, he said he had to go home and ask his mom first.
We waited for the kid in Brayden’s front yard, and Bart hit my shoulder when he saw him riding his bike down the street to us. We were all super nice. I don’t know, I guess I knew we were being crappy, but we kept catching each other’s eyes and smirking. We went into the backyard and started tossing the football around. Max was better than any of us thought he was going to be. He didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would be good at sports, but he caught everything and had a decent arm on him. He asked if we were going to pay for a game and Bart told him that we were. He asked Max if he had ever heard of the game smear the… well I don’t want to say it. My sister is gay and I love her and support her. I was uncomfortable with the word anytime Bart said it, and he said it a lot. I mean, he said the Q word in a crappy way. Like making fun of people. I’m sure you’ve heard of the game he suggested. Max said he had never heard of it. Bart explained that whoever had the ball was the Q…. and everyone else tackled him. Then he tossed Max the ball. He caught it and we rushed him, knocking him to the ground. Max did, at least. I guess I did too. So did Brayden. Every time Max got up one of us would knock him down. Eventually, he tossed the ball away but we didn’t stop. We just kept tackling him. Max was crying, and he got a split lip. It was bleeding pretty bad and I turned to the others and told them to stop, but Bart got so pissed and knocked me down. he told me if I didn't want to play anymore I would be the Q and he would smear me. So I played. I knocked Max down, over and over.
Max tried to run. he ran toward the back of the yard and we chased him. Bart was the fastest and he slammed into Max and the kid went flying into the creek. We stood at the bank and I’ll never forget the sight. Max was dead, lying with his head on a rock, his blood leaking out into the slow-moving water. This was about a month ago, and I know I’ll never get that sight out of my mind, as long as I live. Which won’t be that long, I guess. Maybe that’s what I deserve.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. Brayden’s mom was at work, so we called the police. We told them it was an accident, that we had just been playing and Max had slipped. We had to go down to the station for hours and talk, each of us with our parents and a cop. They asked about his split lip and some bruises. We all just said that’s what happened sometimes when you played football. They bought it.
We all went to the funeral. Brayden and I were pretty shaken up, and we stopped talking to Bart. I could tell he was shaken up too, but he kept making jokes about it. He wouldn’t laugh or anything, I think he was trying to make himself feel better. Like it had been an accident. Max’s sister came up to Bart at the funeral and yelled at him. She was crying, it was hard to watch. She said she knew something had happened. Her parents had to drag her away from Bart. She told Bart that she would bring her brother back, and he would set things right. We all thought she was crazy.
Two Wednesdays ago I was sleeping when my phone rang. It was like two in the morning. I answered it and it was Bart, telling me that Max was in his yard. I told him that was impossible, but he sent me a picture and it sure looked like Max, right outside his window. He was just standing there, wearing the suit he was buried in, his face gray and gaunt. Bart was scared. He said he was going to hide. He was home alone for the night, his parents had gone out, they went out a lot. he said he was hiding in his closet. He begged me to come over. Begged me to save him. And then he started to scream. The call ended, and I called him back over and over but he didn’t answer. I almost went over there, but I was frozen in fear in my bed. I couldn’t convince myself to get out from under my covers. The next morning at school everyone learned that Bart was dead. His parents had found him early that morning, he was dead in his closet. I told Brayden everything and showed him the picture Bart had sent me. He was terrified.
Last Wednesday was our last day of school before summer. Bart came up to me near the end of the day and told me they had been outside for gym class and he had seen Max standing across the soccer field, just by the trees there. When Bart had pointed him out to someone else, Max was gone. Behind a tree maybe. Bart was scared that Max was coming from him.
The next day Brayden was dead. His mom found him outside in their backyard, and some kids said his head had been turned around, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. I wonder if Max’s sister really brought him back. She must of. Maybe she is a witch.
Today I woke up and looked out my window. I could see someone standing down the road, right in the center of the street. Small and in a suit. It’s Max. I went outside, but he was gone. But I know it was him. I know why he killed Bart first. He knows Bart was the ring leader. Maybe he saved me for last because I tried to stop the others. I don’t know. Maybe he won’t kill me. But I keep seeing him. He’s getting closer. He was at the end of the street earlier, and then when my dad sent me outside to get the garbage cans in from the road he was closer, in a neighbor's yard, staring at me from around the corner of their house. He’s getting closer. He’s coming for me. I guess I don’t really blame him.

I've tried selling this thing for weeks now on Facebook Marketplace, eventually at just 1 cent because I just genuinely want it out of my hair. And I cannot find any takers. I want someone to just take it instead of throwing it out because honestly, I'm deeply nervous about what would happen if I did. But if this advertisement proves to be just as fruitless, I will do it despite my nervousness because my mind just can't take this anymore otherwise I'm afraid I'm going to have a psychological break with reality and need to be sedated.
I grew up originally in Northern California near Mt. Shasta, and four years ago I moved to the Big Island of Hawaii after I got a new job working for the university located in Hilo as an adjunct. The search for a place to rent where I could garden in the backyard took a while, but the wait was worth it. Gardening is like comfort food for my soul, and always has been ever since I was a little girl. My mom brought me up doing it, and I took to it immediately when I was just 3 or 4 she always liked to remind me.
I suppose the reason I wanted to leave California was the fact that she wasn't there anymore, that the last piece or vestige of my family was gone and I was all that was left of the life we used to have out there. I remember the day everything was packed up for the movers and ready to go, I walked outside to wait for a friend to pick me up to take me to the airport. As I sat there on my porch, I saw an elderly man walking in front of my front yard. It was an old friend of my mom's from the neighborhood. He had been very kind to me at her funeral as he had just lost his wife himself. We both waved at each other and I got up to chat with him one last time.
As it turned out, he was there to give me a going away present. It was a batch of strange seeds in a small sack. Some were colored burgundy, others indigo, and still others ivory with fascinating patterns on them. In total, there were 19 by my count. He said that before his wife passed away, she had originally intended to give them to my mom. Apparently, during one of their hiking trips around the mountain, the two of them kept stopping to see if someone was following them. Every time they would, some tree would rustle or a bush would make a quick, sharp noise indicating some sort of disturbance. Towards the end of their hike, they stopped one final time only for them to turn around and notice that someone had left this dingy little sack of seeds on a rotted out tree stump they had just passed. In other words, there was no question at that point that they had been followed.
For what reason? He couldn't say, though obviously the implication was that whoever it was wanted them to have these seeds. His wife died soon after that, before she could pass them along to my mother. He said he was hesitant to part with them after she died, but felt extremely guilty having waited too long to give them to my mom. Now that I was heading to Hawaii, he thought he ought to just give them to me instead of continuing to keep them. Other than that, he told me to be very careful with them, to specifically pour them out into the ground from the sack instead of touching them myself. And I wondered why. Like it's such an oddly specific thing to bring up about them.
Regardless.
I took them gratefully and thanked him for the gift and said that my mother would have loved them. Now, I'm not so sure she would have.
It was only a week or so after I had finally unpacked everything in my new place that I decided to garden again. And the first thing I planted, of course, were the seeds once meant for my mom. In memory of her. It was only one I put in the ground because honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how big this thing was going to grow to be. I wasn’t even sure what exactly this thing was even going to grow to be either. Turns out, it’s a vegetable… of some kind. I think. It’s almost like a yam? Like with the same texture and everything but with bright orange skin… and fur in strange places? Also, another thing, it’s like a yam but at the time of writing this it has most definitely grown beyond the size of a typical yam. Basically it’ll increase in size every week or so by a half a foot by my measure. Also, every time it grows by that much, another bulbous root pops out and burrows itself beneath.
And oh yeah there are little blue flowers (or what I guess you could call flowers) growing out of little nooks and crannies and just random spots all over. I’m not sure what to say. I have yet to identify it. If one of you reading this can, then good for you, would you like to take it off my hands in that case? Please? Okay well, I guess I better finally explain why I want this damn thing out of here. I’ve already ostracized myself at work trying to get people to take it, as well as trying to explain what makes me hate the thing, so what harm will come from making a bunch of internet strangers think I’m creepy or crazy?
The black and white of it is that every time this thing grows a half a foot, every time another root plants itself in the ground, every time another one of those little blue flower buds appears on it, something changes. About the world we live in. About our history. About how we live day to day. And no one seems to notice any of the changes except for me. Today in fact, I almost got into a fatal car crash after I woke up and took note of a new flower bud growing on the side of it facing my house. If you put a Bible in front of me and made me swear to God that I was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth I would swear on that, my life, and my late mother’s grave that I grew up knowing that Americans in all 50 states drive on the left side of the road.
I know you’re probably laughing at me. Because that’s what the person I almost ran into did when I told them. They wanted to know if I was British or something, and I said no I was born and raised in Northern California all my life. The closest I’ve ever even been to a foreign country is San Diego. But when I pulled over after that scare and looked it up on my phone, there it was. Americans drive on the right side of the road and pretty much always have. It’s just so… jarring. I have vivid memories of me death gripping the wheel to my mom’s Wrangler for the first time in my life, with her in the passenger seat teaching me the rules of the road for the first time. And I remember very clearly her telling me that no matter where I go in the United States or Canada, if I ever did that is, I would be on the left side of the road the entire time.
And I remember everyone else driving on the left side too. I remember them doing it yesterday. And now, everyone’s acting like it’s actually been this other way the entire time and that I’m somehow just noticing it. But I’m not “just noticing” it. It changed without warning me, to my abject frustration. This is what my life has been like since I planted it. I remember when it first sprouted. When I first started noticing the changes. The very first one I encountered were the changes made to the American flag. Again, swearing to God, on my own life, and on my late mother’s grave, I can attest that the American flag has always had 13, red and white, diagonal stripes. Not horizontal. Diagonal.
Again, I remember vividly sitting Indian style around our 1st grade teacher as she taught us some of the most basic history of the Revolutionary War. Particularly when it came to the Betsy Ross story. I remember being told that, when Betsy Ross first showed George Washington her initial design for the flag that it did indeed have horizontal stripes just like the one I suppose all of you are familiar with. But at the last second, he had her change them to be diagonal because he wanted to convey that the United States did not intend to be an empire in which some states would be perceived to be dominating the others by being “on top”. Making the stripes diagonal, to him, avoided this undesired symbolism.
I remember it all so clearly, even the little kitschy cartoon drawings in our school books of him with Betsy Ross as she showed him the final design. I remember reading about it in middle and high school. Hell, I even remember writing a 13 page essay for US History I in college that dealt with the subject. The paper of course, along with any historical record or proof of this detailed memory (digital or otherwise), is nowhere I can find it. It’s as if God or something turned the whole world into one big Wikipedia article and began editing reality at random with no one reverting the changes.
If you don’t think I’m crazy yet, then maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. When I noticed the plant had grown its eighth root, I learned for the first time in my life that Richard Nixon resigned over the Watergate scandal and not for having been outed as having had a nearly decade long affair with both Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy at the same time as I thought I had been taught. I hadn’t even heard the term Watergate before that. In fact, I learned at the same exact time that apparently for decades since, the affix -gate had been attached to various other scandals and controversies as though it were a naming convention. Until that eighth root planted itself firmly in the ground, I had never once seen or heard of something like that before.
The day I noticed the very first flower to bloom on it, was the same day I found out there’s this little place near Long Island and New Jersey you may have heard of called New York City. You see, to me, that place has always been (and always will be in my mind as I cling onto what I know to be the truth) New Ithaca. Frank Sinatra’s famous song that is played every year on New Year’s Eve, has always been about the great city of New Ithaca, the Big Apple. The changes are just so weird and particular too. The whole general history of that city and state has remains the same though (at least to me), being that it was founded by the Dutch but was taken by the British and renamed before becoming a part of the United States. Only, instead the place was previously named New North Brabant whereas I suppose you have always known that New York used to be New Amsterdam.
There’s even a song about that bit of trivia, I learned. Catchy, and also cringe inducing for someone like me going through what I’m going through.
Actually the overwhelming bulk of changes have had to do with place names. Again growing up, I had it beaten into my brain that in 1492 Columbus sailed the Pacific blue. You heard that right. The vast puddle you probably call the Atlantic Ocean has always been the Pacific to me. And vice versa. Nebraska was a name I had not ever heard of before I measured another half foot in that damn thing’s already enormous length. To me that place was called the State of Fillmore. If before I measured it to be at 3 feet, you had asked me to point out Paris on a map, I would have stared at you blankly until I realized you probably meant to say Degaulleville which was built just northeast of the ruins of the ill-fated City of Lights after it was used as a testing ground for Germany’s most devastating weapon of WWII - the nuclear bomb.
Apparently in this new world the plant has created for me, it is our country that has the dubious honor of being the first military in the world to use nuclear weapons in an actual war.
And the list of changes I have just goes on and on like that. I’m not going to waste time spelling them all out for you. I’m sure that should be enough for you to at least hear me out or dismiss me as having had a break with reality. All I want now is this thing in my backyard, and these seeds to boot, out of here. Like I said in the beginning, I’d throw it away, but now that I suspect there’s some sort of link between it and all these changes being made, I worry what it could do to me if I yanked it out of the ground and chucked it into a dumpster. Degaulleville, Fillmore, etc. were erased by this thing. I could be too, if I made it mad enough.
There’s another part of me, a selfish part, that hopes if someone else takes it they can be the ones to have all these changes happen to instead. They can be the ones to watch desperately as what you once knew to be true, to be there, to be real, is all ground up and thrown away like it was nothing to bend your reality and leave you as the only one aware of it. I want that to happen to someone else instead of me. I want to be the one who’s oblivious to the changes made in the fabric and window dressings of reality. I want to be the one who reads the complaints and desperate cries of someone like me, and calls them crazy. I want want want that.
There’s another, tinier part of me, that naively hopes once I can leave this thing with someone else, it will change reality again but this time for the better. For the better, for me. Maybe once it starts affecting someone else adversely, it can change reality one more time to make my mom come back. To come back in a way that would make me forget she was ever gone. And then maybe I can go home, go back to the life I was used to living. But I know at the same time, there’s absolutely no reason it would do something nice like that for me.
Hell, if anything, it could decide to make things in reality, history, etc. worse for everyone including me. Like let me think… Okay for example, remember back in 1999 when everyone was afraid of the Y2K bug, but then it turned out to not be such a catastrophic ordeal as people were predicting? That damn plant could change things to make it so that Y2K’s catastrophic potential was fulfilled. Or wait, here’s a more recent example - remember like three or so years ago when there was that weird disease in China all the schools and governments got freaked out about for two weeks, warning about having to do lockdowns and stuff like that only for the Chinese government to successfully contain it before it could leave its shores?
I’d imagine the plant could change that history as well. And it’s not like I want any of that to happen, it’s just that I have little to no control over whether or not it will. And I just want to be free from being the only one to know it’s all happening. To notice it everyday. To have your heart and brain scratched at and tortured by it when you do.
So please, someone, anyone out there who can and is willing to take this thing off my hands knowing full well what it is - just DM me. I’ll give it to you at no charge or expense to you. I’ll even dig it out of the ground and drive to where you are (if you’re on the island that is) so you don’t have to get up and go anywhere. If you’re located somewhere else I’ll happily volunteer to pay all the associated shipping costs at my own expense as well in order to get it to you.
You’ll be my knight in shining armor if you do.
UPDATE: I am no longer in need of anyone to take this thing and these seeds off my hands. Thank you to the person that DMed me after I posted this. I got your email confirming that it safely arrived at your address as well. Also, glad to hear it’s grown another root. By glad, I mean that I am glad to know that it has grown yet again but this time I haven’t noticed anything changing. You have no idea what you’ve done to help salvage my sanity. Bless you.

My husband is already in the US on TN status, and I plan to join him there soon - I have just found my own job that qualifies, and am preparing to cross the border with my documents in the next few weeks.
He has been there for a couple years, currently renting, and interested in owning American property - although we will continue to own our condo in Canada.
I have questions because there is a place we are interested in buying now. Should we wait to start this home buying process until after I get TN status? Would they ask me about owning US property at the interview? If we start the home buying process now, make an offer, but don't actually close/transfer property title until well after I arrive, is that ok (since we wouldn't technically be owners yet until closing day)? The place I would be staying upon arrival would still be our rental home.

I'm not even joking. Heres the full story:
My Dad passed 4 months ago. My Uncle lives abroad and flew back for funeral etc. As it's a long trip he has stayed for months, so he has been at my Dads empty house, to save him paying out for a hotel.
I was worried he might be sad, or even scared in there, as my Dad died at home. He said that so long as he didnt know where he died, he would be fine. So we didnt tell him.
In all these months my uncle has had no signs, signals or messages from my Dad. My uncle is a staunch non-believer. He is very much rooted in materialism and thinks anyone who has experiences are crazy or lying.
Well, that all changed today. He came round to our house, he was animated in his speech and words which is very much out of character for him and he told us the following.
Last night he went to bed and as soon as he slipped into deep sleep, my Dad appeared to him. My Dad appeared younger, healthier, and was holding a bottle of Guinness, which was his favourite.
He led my uncle down the stairs. He pointed to the spot where he died and said 'This is where I laid down bro. But I am good now'
He also said that my cousin, who no one has seen for over 2 years, as he also lives abroad, to stop eating spam meat, because it shorten his life.
My mind is blown.
We called my cousin to ask him about this. Yes he has started enjoying the taste of spam and has been eating it regularly - no one knew this!
When I asked my uncle what spot my Dad pointed to (as I was the one who found my dad so I know exactly where he died)....and he was bang on. As far as my uncle was concerned my Dad could have died anywhere in that house. But he showed him the EXACT spot.
I am shook. I am so happy to hear he is fine as this has been bothering me the most. It has also encouraged me to continue my search for Big Truth.

Of course, it was inevitable it happened with Fox, a network that picked up a sterling reputation as one that let promising TV series wither and die on the vine ("Firefly" fans will know this better than anyone). This excellent horror anthology from genre vets Billy Brown and Dan Angel (responsible for "Goosebumps" TV series and the would be horror pilot "Body Bags" and later to create "The Haunting Hour") was meant to premiere in October of 2000 (appropriate), but instead got bumped for "Freakylinks" (another promising show Fox screwed over) and instead got ran off as a summer time-filler in 2001, with three episodes not even being run (those had to wait until September 2002 for Sci-Fi to run them, two of them reedited into a "movie" called "Shadow Realm"). According to Brown, this was due to a changing of the guard at Fox and a network that didn't think the show was "hip" enough.
Really. "Hipness" is apparently a genre necessity according to the suits at Fox. And apparently this "hipness" obsession was what was responsible for the show's most out of nowhere creative decision, having Henry Rollins be the Rod Serling-equivalent. That actually worked surprisingly well, but that meant ditching the one who was already committed to the role...Gary Oldman. Yes, Gary freaking Oldman could have been the host of this show. Think of how awesome that would have been. And yet he was dumped for Rollins because the latter was more "hip." (Brown mentioned they never wanted a host, just an "Outer Limits"-style voiceover, but Fox demanded a host or no show...and then they let the show die anyway.)
Given all the nonsensical meddling involved (Brown mentioned Fox nixed adapting a Dean Koontz story because it was "too scary", then complained the show wasn't scary enough), it's impressive the show turned out as well as it did, because "Night Visions" is a pretty good anthology with some truly impressive episodes that feature a wide variety of talent in front of and behind the camera (Joe Dante and Tobe Hooper direct multiple episodes). The entire series is available on YouTube to check out (13 episodes with 2 stores to each) and some highlights are:
"A View Through the Window" (E3): Bill Pullman directs and stars as a military scientist investigating the sudden appearance of a portal in the middle of a desert that leads to a lush farm inhabited by a picturesque family (including a beautiful young woman of course). Features a shocking twist that scarred a lot of early 00s kids.
"Now He's Coming Up the Stairs" (E4): Luke Perry (RIP) portrays a therapist with the ability to absorb the illnesses of his patients (in the opening he cures an anorexic and then suffers through her disability herself) who takes on perhaps his most dangerous case yet. I should mention at this point that cruel twist endings were the norm for this series.
"Rest Stop" (E5): College kids out traveling pick up a mysterious hitchhiker (Jerry O'Connell) and learn the local rest area hides some dark secrets. The ending gives a very grim answer to the question of how much are you actually worth.
"After Life" (E5): Randy Quaid (pre-insanity) is a man who suddenly wakes up in the midst of his own funeral, much to the delight of his daughter (his wife is more mixed), but becomes obsessed with the vision of heaven he supposedly saw and eventually wants to return...with his loved ones. The twist ending here is exceptionally cruel even by this show's standards.
"Bitter Harvest" (E8): Jack Palance is a crusty old farmer who loses both his limbs thanks to the careless actions of the boy next door (Brendan Fletcher) and goes to dark lengths for retribution. Animal lovers, you will be deeply upset by one scene near the end.
"My So-Called Life and Death" (E8): A teenage girl (Marla Sokoloff) staying with her deeply dysfunctional family at their summer home suspects the handsome handyman she has a crush on is actually a ghost. If you've read the "Goosebumps" book "The Ghost Next Door" (which was adapted to the TV series), this is like a darker adult version of that, with the main highlight being the deeply fucked-up family (Dad is a neglectful boozer, little brother is a pampered little shit, Mom is completely oblivious to anything that messes up her perfect delusions, etc.).
"Darkness" (E10): My personal favorite episode, with Michael Rappaport as a man who inherits his wealthy uncle's manor and learns the dark secret behind his uncle's gruesome demise (the opening shot awesomely depicts the aftermath). This one will make you uneasy at the sight of any flickering shadow.
"Harmony" (E11): Timothy Olyphant stars (and really, what more recommendation do you need?) as a traveler who finds a small town where music is outlawed due to superstition and he tries to convince them they have nothing to fear. Think of this as a dark version of "Footloose" where the Kevin Bacon character really should have kept his mouth shut.
"Cargo" (E12): Jamie Kennedy is a young cargo officer who ignores the advice of his crusty veteran co-worker (Phillip Baker Hall) and learns some of their cargo is very much alive...and very hungry. One of the episodes directed by Tobe Hooper.
"Patterns" (E13): "Christine's" Keith Gordon directs this tale of a psychiatrist (Miguel Ferrer) who deals with a very unusual patient (Malcom McDowell) who claims his obsessive-compulsive behavior is what's keeping the very fabric of reality together. A clever little story that explains every bizarre compulsive habit you've ever seen someone do. Sometimes those silly little rituals are very important indeed.
There's plenty more to enjoy and if you're a fan of the genre, you should check it out. Another Fox casualty well worth discovering.

The hill appeared deserted. Sonurupākä was not sure if he should find the worrying, or a positive indication that the disruption caused by their hordes has gone relatively unnoticed.
His wife and the Great Mothers of his clan had done it. They had united the clans of Konuthomu behind a single purpose. Behind a single man. Behind him. More than that, his mission east had been a success—they think. This hill is where they are supposed to meet. Is it possible the people of Kamābarha have betrayed their trust.
He stews on this risk as the column advances up the hill. They travel in twos—one with a spear, one with a bow—each carrying a simple cloth rucksack with arrows and food.
Ahead he sees a face emerge from the undergrowth—he draws his bow and knocks the arrow he’d had at his belt, and then noticed the lack of feathers and painted pictographs. In Rhadämā he calls, “Hail good son, I hope your wait has been short and fruitful.”
Despite the initial shock of a bow in his face, the Kamābarha scout recovers admirably, “Aye, we just arrived then finished the midday meal. Come, I shall take you to our Outer-Chief.”
The featherless man, young and lithe with hungry eyes and handsome visage, leads the column up the hill. As they round the crest, a crowd emerged seated in its meadowy crest.
It’s a good crowd, with bows and spears much the same as theirs. The leader stands dressed in a blue and red cape and central skirt. Ōdjobanama, son of the great clan mother of Kamābarha, greets him heartily, “The spirits are good bringing us together so swiftly. Please, sit, share my plate.” He guides Sonurupākä over to a small circle of richly dressed men. Before them sit plates with zizania, fried tuber, and rabbit. Sitting, the two leaders eat and talk, planning for the assaults.
There are three main settlements of this particular band of Yelithātsan, surrounded by managed forest and meadowland for grazing and their meagre farms imitating civilization. The attack is to begin after the fall of night, when the savages are hopefully in their cups—even barbarians keep to the holy day. They honour Him in another way: he saves us all from destruction, so we shall save ourselves from pilfering. Splitting the horde into two equal groups, one under each Outer-Chief’s command, they shall approach the main village together. Once cleared, they will move on to the subsequent two. Messy business, but necessary.
The Outer-Chiefs toast their plans with small cups of cranberry wine, and lay down for a rest. The night shall be long and tiring.
The flickering torchlight paints their faces ghostly as they stand, ringing the village.
It is a quaint, wooden affair with thatch roofs and small-halls. Larger barns surround the village in the pasture land. Those shan’t be touched, the bison’s their reward, after all.
Half a dozen scouts creep into the village, the sounds of caroling have ceased—the festivities are at an end. It has been a dry month, more so than usual, and the homes take fire easily. First the thatch but then the thinner planks and wattle used. The scours quickly retreat to the village surroundings and take up their spears or bows, posted beside arrows stuck-standing in the dry earth.
The first shouts are ones of terror—the smell of smoke and unwelcome light rousing the unknowing sleepers within.
“Water, water,” the cries ring out as the people scramble to put out the fires.
The first to show themselves are the young mothers, easily roused and quickly killed as arrows fly. The village is surrounded, there is nowhere to flee.
Cries of terror and “attack” begin to accompany those for water. Somewhere some babes begin to bawl.
Sonurupākä steadies his face and fired arrows, piercing the throat of a young boy, newly-feathered, who took up a spear in his house’s defence.
“Savagery is a blight upon the land. An ordered paddy requires weeding. Allow for rot and you ruin the store.”
Repeating platitudes under his breath, he fires again and again into the crowds. Still, his stomach rolls. It is his duty, nothing more. He was trusted to do this. It is an honour.
One of his men pierces a woman with a babe, the two falling to the earth in a single heap. Another a wizened matriarch. A few brave fools with spears and clubs and knives make it to the perimeter, only for the spearmen of the forces of order to make quick work of them.
As the fires rage higher and all hope of putting them out is lost, and bodies begin to pile, more and more of the Yelithatsan simply throw their bodies to the ground and plea for forgiveness, for grace, for god.
The harder challenge is raised by those of the farmhouses and barns attacking from the dark. A few clever Yelithatsan loose arrows from the forests, downing some of the forces of civilization, but they too are overwhelmed.
With the resistance broken, it’s easy work to go through the wreckage, slicing the throats of those wounded but struggling long—offering a little prayer and making them an offering in thanks for protection in the battle.
The main task, however, is slicing off the left ears off the defeated—both living and dead. By taking the Kemihatsārä of the defeated, they are robbed of status and power. Women, youths, and weaker men are left alive—if they don’t get infected from their wound—and are to be taken back as farm labour. Their feathers of parrot and pigeon shall adorn the cloaks of the victors.
Those who are too wilful receive a simpler fate: a knife makes quick work of resistance.
Binding the prisoners and leaving some men to guard them, the troupes split up and continue their assault.
Some 800 lie dead as midday sets in, but thousands of bison and many urns of wine have been seized. The victors take turns sleeping as others burn the dead—Proper pyres with prayers for the honoured dead, the defeated built in with the kindling.
The divvying up of the rewards is simple enough: Konuthomu’s rewards belong to the clan mothers—they shall decide the division upon their return (or, realistically, already have), and Ōdjobanama’s requests seemed fair.
They shall rest and feast here tonight, amongst the ruins of the village. In the morning, the captives will be loaded with goods and brought to their new lives as landless labour: servants of new clans. Before the funeral pyres, Sonurupākä completes a ritual. This is perhaps aggressive, inventing something new, but it seems necessary. Casting the ears into the fire, he grants the Kemihatsārä of the defeated to the victorious soldiers. Feathers of parrot and pigeon are added to cloaks: trophies of victory. Those who distinguished themselves most admirably receive more, with multiple feathers marking their prestige.
The duNothudo, of DjamäThanä at least, had told him to treat the victors as heroes. He prays this is what they meant. But the men had begun to add the feathers to their own cloaks—and that anarchy could be tolerated.
The smell of burnt flesh accompanies the feast, dozens of bison roast over raging fires and hearty stews of rice and tuber grace the tables. Glory tastes excellent.
The welcome back in Konuthomu was incredible. A small, congratulatory feast was thrown upon their return, and Sonurupākä was granted a full row of clan-feathers from each of the six clans: extending his cape beneath his tail-bone.
The division of the resources was decided upon, with 144 bison set aside for the Autumnal Equinox. Invitations were sent out far and wide for all villages within six days of canoeing to come, pay homage to the Great Mothers of Konuthomu, take part in the bounty and generosity of the Mothers, and arrange for their commitments to the granaries of Konuthomu. The Potters’ Quarter, a dense maze of small, two-story houses, kilns, and workshops below the Themilanan split between DjamäThanä in the East and NāpäkoduThonu in the West was abuzz.
1728 bowls of celadon.
That is what Senisedjarha had called for, and that is what Sonurupākä must deliver. The Nōlukomuko, DjamäThanä’s portion of the recent prisoners, were put to work quarrying the feldspar needed to make the glaze, and the workshops of the Potters’ Quarter seemed lit and full both night and day. Overview of the Quarter is not chiefly Sonurupākä’s duty, but the fruit harvests are in the hands of Nolunaman and Sonurupākä is not needed beyond the city.
Perhaps soon, if messengers come back reporting on the peasants who refuse to pay homage to the Great Mothers, he’ll be needed beyond the Themilanan. But for now, he can dedicate himself to artistry and allow the glaze to clear his mind.
They’d needed to remind a few families of their position—and what they owe to the Great Mothers of Konuthomu. But the Autumnal Equinox proved to be the greatest event Konuthomu had ever known. In the meadows just beyond the fields, dozens of long tables were set up. Seventy-two fire pits were dug, each to roast two of the 144 bison for the feast. Tsukõdju had never witnessed such a feast.
The evening ends with declarations by the duNothudo: Nāpäkodu Peritēki-Demisenikonu is named Outer-Chief—it makes sense, his time is up and he has served his duty well.
But the duNothudo do not stop there. “As is plain to all, the world grows more dangerous, more complex. We need a strong hand to enact our wisdom, and to protect us. Nāpäkodu Peritēki-Demisenikonu shall be our spear: the protector of Konuthomu. But what good is a spear without a kiln and field to protect? We thus name Djamä Sonurupākä-Pēzjeceni Inner-Chief.”
A murmur rises. So his task is not done.
The weather has cooled and the harvest has been completed. He has had a busy few months. But as he has settled into his new role and finished the duties with the harvest, he has had time to think.
It’s night now, the air is cold. He woke from bed and is wearing only a woolen poncho, traded for from the Yeli. He walks in the courtyard garden in the Rhadämā style house he built—indisputably the greatest in the Themilanan, positioned on a flat mound extending above the Potters’ District.
He woke up from a recurring nightmare: he’s back in that flaming village, he looses an arrow at a figure running at him through the flames. He goes to see who it was, and finds Senisedjarha holding their newborn daughter.
At that moment he always wakes up. One of the serving girls on duty brings him his pipe, packed with tobacco, and a cup of strong maple wine. He sits on a rock, moonlight filtering through the leafy canopy above him.
A man must do his duty, for that is what makes a path.
Another drink and he’ll return to bed and take his wife in his arms.
Another drink and he’ll be able to sleep.

For me, the story wasn’t really anything special to write home about, and I didn’t really like how the game was paced and being extremely repetitive halfway through the game(especially with the missions designs), but there was a few good moments in MGSV. The two cutscenes I liked were: The funeral for the diamond dogs, and the last Paz cutscene. That Paz cutscene is genuinely one of my favourites in the entire series, just wished the whole game had that quality the whole way through.

That's what my parents told me.
It was the end of summer, the cold fall air was starting to come in, when my parents sat me down to give me a talk. My mother took a long breath,
"Lucas, your grandpa is going through a very tough time right now, he is currently fighting a ferocious dragon, and so he may seem a little off sometimes, but just know he is very tired from fighting the dragon"
​
I was a bit confused at the time. A dragon? I had no idea my grandpa was a Dragonslayer. My 6 year old brain was overjoyed.
"Grandpa fights dragons?! He's even cooler than I thought!"
​
There was a somber look in my mother's eye, but she said nothing afterwards and just rubbed my shoulder.
​
​
A couple weeks later we went over to my grandparents house for a visit. The waft of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies fills the air as we walk in, my grandma made the best cookies in the world. My grandpa sees me and his eyes light up with that same joyous love they always do.
"Heya there sport! How's my favorite second baseman doing?"
"Grandpa! I play third base, you know this!" I respond while giggling
"Oh r-right of course, I'll grab the gloves and we can go toss the ball around"
He walks towards the kitchen before catching himself, then walks upstairs to go grab our baseball gloves.
​
The autumn leaves were starting to fall as we went outside to play catch. My grandparents house was in a nice neighborhood that had a lot of trees. Ray's of sunshine were flowing through the trees as we tossed the baseball around. After we play for a bit, we go back inside and help ourselves to my grandma's favorite chocolate chip cookies.
​
"I can't believe you're really a dragon slayer grandpa!"
My grandpa's eyes widened for a half second before going back to his usual, joyous self.
"Haha, well an old man can have a few secrets can't he?"
"I want to help you fight it!" I insisted
"Haha! I'd love to have you help me, but sadly I fight the dragon after your bedtime every night"
I pouted, but that seemed like a reasonable enough explanation for my 6 year old self.
​
Shortly after we finish eating the cookies, my parents and I pack up in our car and wave bye as we pull out of the driveway.
That was the last time I saw my grandpa at his house.
That night I dreamt of a dragon. It spouted fire from it's mouths and snarled as it stared at me. I shook in fear as the dragon raised it's claw and began a massive swipe at me. I could see the razor sharp edges at the end of each finger that looked about as big as me.
But all of a sudden my grandpa was there, clad in shining silver armor. he raised a mighty shield and deflected the dragon's claw, before shouting to me
"C'mon sport! We got a dragon to fight!"
All of a sudden I realized I also had a sword and shield, perfectly fit to my size. My fear had evaporated when I saw my grandpa, and I let out a roar as I charged to follow my grandpa towards the dragon.
​
I woke up with a start immediately after. I felt frustrated I couldn't end up fighting the dragon, but I was still smiling thinking of my grandpa being a heroic dragon slayer.
The months go by as school starts and we aren't able to visit my grandparents, though I did manage to talk to them on the phone sometimes. My grandpa started to seem less like his usual self; he was still the kind old man I came to know and love, but he seemed to be talking like he was distracted by something, and lost his train of thought frequently.
​
My parents told me he was just tired from fighting the dragon.
​
6 months after I had the dream about fighting the dragon, I had another similar dream. The dragon was there, and my grandpa was too, but things were different. My grandpa was pinned under the dragon's talons, and looked to be struggling.
​
"Grandpa! GRANDPA!" I shouted
​
My grandpa looked at me, but the usual joyous glow that was always in his eyes wasn't there.
​
He looked scared, confused.
​
I wasn't about to just let the dragon win though. I drew my sword and charged towards the dragon, it stared at me with dark, soulless eyes.
​
I woke up with a jolt, panting. I was scared, not of the dragon, but of what was gonna happen to my grandpa.
2 months later, my parents tell me we are gonna meet grandpa at the hospital. When we walked in the room, my grandma was crying quietly. She quickly wiped her eyes as we walked in the room.
"Hey buddy, grandpa might be a bit confused right now, he's very tired from fighting the dragon, but just know that he loves you and that will never change.
I give my grandma a big hug. I didn't want her to cry, I wanted to be brave for her.
​
My parents and I walked up to my grandpa. He was laying on the hospital bed, he looked like he was looking at something a million miles away.
My mom was the first one to speak
"Harry… this is your grandson, Lucas. You remember him right?"
"Lucas? Hmmmmm. Oh right! How could I forget! My favorite baseball player! You play for the Detroit Tigers right? 3rd baseman?"
I giggled
"Grandpa! I'm only 6! I can't play for the Tigers yet!"
"Oh r-right, I'm sorry buddy"
​
He's never called me buddy before.
​
I was confused, but at the time I chalked it up to him being tired from fighting the dragon. Still, I couldn't help but feel a hint of sadness as we walked out of the hospital room. But right as I was about to head through the door my grandpa shouted.
"Hey sport!"
I looked back and for just a glimpse, I saw that same joyous love in my grandpa's eye.
​
"I'm gonna beat that dragon"
​
I smile at him before heading out the door. The drive home was quiet, I could tell my mom was sobbing quietly into her coat, my dad was driving, his eyes looked somber in the rearview mirror.
"Dad, is the dragon too strong for grandpa to beat?"
My dad looks at me and sighs deeply.
"I don't know Lucas, but I know he's gonna try"
​
That night, I had another dream.
​
The dragon was there, and so was my grandpa. But this time, the tides had turned. My grandpa fought furiously, all while laughing with his same, joyous laugh. I see him climb onto the back of the dragon, the dragon bucking wildly to get him off.
"Grandpa! Grandpa, I'm here!" I shout
He looks at me with those same joyous eyes.
"Heya there sport, toss me that rope! I know you got a mean throw!"
Right as he said it I realized there was a bundle of rope right next to me. I pick it up and throw it with all my strength. Miraculously, my grandpa reaches out one arm and catches it.
"Thanks sport! I can always rely on you!"
My grandpa swings the rope around the dragon, getting it right through it's mouth. The dragon bucks even more wildly, but my grandpa holds on. Eventually, the dragon submits, and stops bucking.
I stare at my grandpa on the back of the dragon. He was not only a Dragonslayer, he was a dragon rider!
​
"We did it grandpa! We beat the dragon!"
He takes a long look at me, with those same joyous eyes, and smiles. Then he guides the dragon into the air as he flies away.
​
​
My grandpa died that night.
​
​
It was a sad day, my mom was sobbing the whole time as my dad tried to comfort her, and I couldn't even bring myself to cry. I was confused, I thought we won. If we beat the dragon, why did my grandpa die?
The funeral was a few days after. A soft breeze made the trees rustle. It was a small event, he wouldn't have wanted anything else. There was a lot of crying, and a lot of speeches about the great person he was. As the ceremony came to a close, my grandma came up to me and tried to smile.
"Your grandpa wrote this for you a few months ago, as he was first starting to fight the dragon"
She handed me a letter. I thanked her and gave her a big hug, promising I'd find the dragon that did this.
​
As the sun started to set, my parents started to pack up the car. On the ride home I decided to open the letter. It read:
​
Dear sport,
​
I know how this must feel right now. I was supposed to beat the dragon! Then why am I not there still?
Well Lucas, there's something you should know about this dragon. Truth be told, I had no idea this
dragon was coming; it came out of nowhere, and was as surprising as it was scary. I was scared, sport.
I know that might seem surprising to you, your brave old grandpa being scared, but I was. Dragons
are scary, even to old-timers like me. But one thing kept me pushing on, kept me fighting. That thing
was you, sport. You were my sword and shield, my shining silver armor. I couldn't have fought the
dragon without you. I know you can't see me now, but trust me when I say I'm out there going on
adventures. I carry you and your grandma and your parents with me, you guys are my courage, my
protectors. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm gonna be okay because I have you with me. I
love you, sport. Hit a home run for your old grandpa huh?
​
Your favorite Dragonslayer,
​
Grandpa.

So I obtained my CNA license in TN in 2020 but I have been traveling and my CNA license in Tn has expired. I currently am active in Montana, Missouri, and South Dakota. Can I use reciprocity to come home and go back to work as a Cna while I get my LPN degree?