Do aloft hotels have free breakfast

I always think about the 'endless content' we have now, and how it is so very different from what we had access to in our younger years. We had a very select amount of content to choose from as kids.

• If you wanted to listen to a song, you had to either buy the CD and listen to the album or rip it on the computer to then download on an ipod if you had money. You could also download from limewire and put a virus on the family computer if you had internet.
• If you wanted to watch a specific TV show or movie, you had to physically rent it from blockbuster, buy the DVD or wait for it to come on TV.
• The internet had very limited capabilities. No real options to watch content. Even early YouTube was very short 'viral' videos and some skits.
• Video games 'on the go' had its limitations. The DS was incredible for its time, but if you wanted any real 'graphics', it had to be at home on a console.
• If you wanted to learn how to do something, you had to buy books or physically take classes on how to do it.

2011-2012 felt like the turning point for all of this. I remember that's when my family finally got wi-fi and I noticed a renaissance happen on YouTube. Instagram was very new, eventually we got vine, and I remember sitting on Spotify for HOURS on my computer being amazed that I could listen to all of this music for free..... And then Netflix, I just couldn't believe it.
We have so much endless content now. If I showed my younger self what we would have access to today, younger me would not have the capacity to understand how much content we have at our fingertips.
If I wanted to learn to make an entire video game from scratch and sell it to millions of people starting right now, there is nothing stopping me from doing it. No financial limitations, no (general) technological limitations. But instead I'm wasting time on reddit.
Anyone using the internet in 2023 can do anything they want. AI is going to make this so much more accessible. We have to figure out how to insert ourselves into this everchanging world that will not stop growing.

I made a pact with the devil that resulted in the world we know as of November 23, 2022, a copy world. If anyone tells me they can still feel god, I know they are lying; all this is mine, but I did not ask for the power to rule it. It is said that hell is the absence of God, and I no longer feel his presence, so I can assume that I am in a kind of pre-hell. I have tried to pray and give myself totally, but it doesn't work, I don't feel that he listens to me after all this, and the way my decisions torment me is almost cruel, because I lost everything, but nothing hurts me more than having lost the possibility of living in paradise and finally ending this suffering. If I commit suicide, I will go to hades sooner, even knowing this, I don't want to have to live knowing that god is no longer with me and that I will see this world collapse because of his own recklessness, because of what led me to commit a mortal sin, something that every human becomes prey to when there is no higher power behind it. What the fuck do I do? Loneliness is an agony that will be the least of my problems in hell, and yet, knowing that I only have this life left to make the best of it, I don't have the strength to fight, and waking up every morning knowing what I went through is a torment like needles. I needed to get it off my chest; I fell into satan's trap, I wanted infinite power and lost it all for a moment of unconsciousness in which I wrote a contract without even realizing it. I consciously said the last days before this happened that "i LOVE sin", i was convinced i was the devil, i said i'm god. I told my family, the only people that loved me, that they are not my real family, and I severely despised their love and ignored all the signs that god was sending me, I refused all desperate invitations to talk to a priest, I refused calls from sister missionaries trying to guide me for free, I refused help from my mother when she came with all her love to try to help me, and I hurt my girlfriend so much by saying incredibly cruel things to her under the influence of psychedelics. I broke every single bond of every single person I was related to on earth, ended all my last chances, then came that night, where I felt like I was possessed by something that wanted so much power, that made me write in a text what for me was "the answer to life", ending up saying things like I will steal my family's "essence", referring to their soul, and ended up saying I WANT IT ALL FOR ME. In that instant I felt horrible claws in my chest, and for the first time in my life, I suddenly realized what I was doing all those days, in an instant when I saw my screen full of devilish images, in a place where it started to smell like sulfur, when I felt I was in checkmate, when I felt that everything was a game to drag me to fuck up like this. I am desperate, I don't feel god anymore, I don't feel love, I don't feel anything, I just have this feeling of emptiness and hopelessness in my chest that forces me to look for answers despite knowing deep down that I lost my chance of paradise and as soon as I die I will suffer the worst of all existence in my own body. I never imagined that at 20 years old this would happen to me, but what else could I expect from practicing magic and abominations the days before the pact? God was already leaving me for all the shit I did and said, I loved the things of the world, I wanted to leave my family for riches and meaningless shit, and now I can't express how I feel, it's unbelievable, I still can't believe this happened, but god doesn't listen to me anymore, I feel nothing when I pray, when I beg desperately for help, I don't know what to do, there must be something I can try, something, anything, there must be some way to save me from this.

Loop holes or things I can say to convince them to free me, this will only make things worse. As I have autism and I don’t do well with people in person, I want to start doing zoom chats to help me get better, but locking me up will put me on the brink.

Hello! I'm happy to officially announce Dispatch, a new experience for your TV that prioritizes your media. To start, here are some screenshots, a demo video, as well as a website to sign up for the beta. Later down, you'll find some more info about the app and my plans for it. Feel free to ask any other questions in the comments!
Screenshots
Demo video note: screen recording introduces a certain amount of stutter that is not present in the actual app
Sign up for the beta!
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What is it? Dispatch is a new launcher for Android TV devices that will integrate directly with your existing media services, such as Plex. Dispatch aims to provide a unique, immersive, and media focused experience on the largest screens in your home.
Will there be ads? Dispatch will launch with a 7 or 14 day trial or something like that. After which, users will have the option to pay for either a monthly or a lifetime subscription. Users who have an active subscription will never ever ever see an ad in this app. I don't even have any concrete plans for a completely free version of the app, however, if a free version does land in the future, I imagine it will be ad-supported (though I'm open to suggestions. In fact, I have some novel ideas I might try out first before going down that route)
How much will it cost? I haven't decided yet. Feel free to dm me or leave a comment indicating what price you think would be appropriate.
What platforms will it support? To start, Dispatch will be available on Android TV devices only. In the future, I plan to release versions for Fire TV, tvOS, Samsung Tizen, Windows, Linux, and macOS. In fact, this project was architected from the start to be on as many platforms as possible. Still, I will be focusing on the Android TV experience for now.
What services will it support? Plex first, with Jellyfin, Emby and other cool stuff planned for the future.
Can it play media directly? Not for now. The first versions of Dispatch will simply launch the appropriate app at the appropriate location within said app. Adding my own media player is a top priority, however, it will take some time to get it right.
When can I try it? I'm hoping a first beta release can be ready in the next 3–5 weeks. If you want to help test the app out and provide feedback, sign up here!
What's your favourite band? Oh boy. Radiohead, Talk Talk, Swans, Deafheaven, Elliott Smith, Roxy Music. Anyways, I do have some cool music-related plans for this app as well :)
Stay tuned! I'm very excited about this project, and I hope some of you will be too! You can also join me over at dispatchlauncher.

I have a follow up appointment coming up in 3 weeks to determine if the surgery I had worked at removing precancerous cells. I am extremely anxious about it. It’s been 6 months since my surgery and if this thing came back, that’s pretty bad. I will have to wait 2-3 weeks afterwards for the results.
I had quit vaping for 6 months and started back a month ago. I know I need to stop. I don’t want to spend the next 5-6 weeks vaping and worsening my chances health wise. But I have this mindset of “well I might have cancer anyways so fuck it.” And, “I am so anxious and stressed right now, I need this escape and dopamine boost to make it through.”
I can’t really go on jogs or go hangout with friends or do some hobbies to keep my mind off of it and to naturally feel dopamine. I work Mon through Friday, when I get off work in the afternoon I pick my son up from his therapy/childcare place and then I’m parenting the rest of the time. My son is non verbal autistic and very sweet, but he is constantly whining or or tantruming and pulling me around the house trying to communicate in his own way, he’s not really able to entertain himself and wants me with him 24/7.
So other than Saturday’s, I don’t get free time and I’m really stressed the vast majority of the day. I was miserable for the 6 months I quit vaping and I’m just not sure I can do it again. I don’t know how. I have read Allen Carr’s book twice and am reading it again, but it’s not having the same effect this time.
I would really like some help.
(I know many people strongly recommend therapy, but that is far out of my budget currently, unless you know of any free or very low budget therapy resources).

PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1572-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-vale-chapter-112/
PROMPTS: George does not care about you, whatsoever.
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
Borde could not enlighten him on that point, and I suggested that he should make application to the publisher of his Prayer-Book and get his money back. There is nobody. I said, like him. He is more wonderful than anything in literature. I prefer him to Sancho who was untroubled with a conscience and never thought of running to the Bishop of Toledo. All the same he is not without the shrewdness of his ancestors, and got the better of Archbishop Walsh, and for the last five years Vincent O'Brien has been beating time, and will beat it till the end of his life; and he will be succeeded by others, for Edward has, by deed, saved the Italian contrapuntalists till time everlasting from competition with modern composers. He certainly has gotten the better of Walsh. And I thought of a picture-gallery in Dublin with nothing in it but Botticelli and his school, and myself declaring that all painting that had been done since had no interest for me.... A smile began to spread over my face, for the story that was coming into my mind seemed oh! so humorous, so like Ireland, so like Edward, that I began to tell myself again the delightful story of the unrefined ears that, weary of erudite music, had left the cathedral and sought instinctively modern tunes and women's voices, and as these were to be found in Westland Row the church was soon overflowing with a happy congregation. But in a little while the collections grew scantier. This time it couldn't be Palestrina, and all kinds of reasons were adduced. At last the truth could no longer be denied—the professional Catholics of Merrion Square had been driven out of Westland Row by the searching smells of dirty clothes, and had gone away to the University Church in Stephen's Green. So if it weren't Palestrina directly it was Palestrina indirectly, and the brows of the priests began to knit when Edward Martyn's name was mentioned. Them fal-de-dals is well enough on the Continent, in Paris, where there is no faith, was the opinion of an important ecclesiastic. But we don't want them here, murmured a second ecclesiastic. All this counterpoint may make a very pretty background for Mr Martyn's prayers, but what about the poor people's? Good composer or bad composer, there is no congregation in him, said a third. There's too much congregation, put in the first, but not the kind we want! The second ecclesiastic took snuff, and the group were of opinion that steps should be taken to persuade dear Edward to make good their losses. The priests in Marlborough Street sympathised with the priests of Westland Row, and told them that they were so heavily out of pocket that Mr Martyn had agreed to do something for them. It seemed to the Westland Row priests that if Mr Martyn were making good the losses of the priests of the pro-Cathedral, he should make good their losses. It was natural that they should think so, and to acquit himself of all responsibility Edward no doubt consulted the best theologians on the subject, and I think that they assured him that he is not responsible for indirect losses. If he were, his whole fortune would not suffice. He was, of course, very sorry if a sudden influx of poor people had caused a falling-off in the collections of Westland Row, for he knew that the priests needed the money very much to pay for the new decorations, and to help them he wrote an article in the Independent praising the new blue ceiling, which seemed, so he wrote, a worthy canopy for the soaring strains of Palestrina.
Unfortunately rubbing salt into the wound, I said. A story that will amuse Dujardin and it will be great fun telling him in the shady garden at Fontainebleau how Edward, anxious to do something for his church, had succeeded in emptying two. All the way down the alleys he will wonder how Edward could have ever looked upon Palestrina's masses as religious music. The only music he will say, in which religious emotion transpires is plain-chant. Huysmans says that the Tantum Ergo or the Dies Irae, one or the other, reminds him of a soul being dragged out of purgatory, and it is possible that it does; but a plain-chant tune arranged in eight-part counterpoint cannot remind one of anything very terrible. Dujardin knows that Palestrina was a priest, and he will say: That fact deceived your friend, just as the fact of finding the Adeste Fideles among the plain-chant tunes deceived him. For of course I shall tell Dujardin that story too. It is too good to be missed. He is wonderful, Dujardin! I shall cry out in one of the sinuous alleys. There never was anybody like him! And I will tell him more soul-revealing anecdotes. I will say: Dujardin, listen. One evening he contended that the great duet at the end of Siegfried reminded him of mass by Palestrina. Dujardin will laugh, and, excited by his laughter, I will try to explain to him that what Edward sees is that Palestrina took a plain chant tune and gave fragments of it to the different voices, and in his mind these become confused with the motives of The Ring. You see, Dujardin, the essential always escapes him—the intention of the writer is hidden from him. I am beginning to understand your friend. He has, let us suppose, a musical ear that allows him to take pleasure in the music; but a musical ear will not help him to follow Wagner's idea—how, in a transport of sexual emotion, a young man and a young woman on a mountain-side awaken to the beauty of the life of the world. Dujardin's appreciations will provoke me, and I will say: Dujardin, you shouldn't be so appreciative. If I were telling you of a play I had written, it would be delightful to watch my idea dawning upon your consciousness; but I am telling you of a real man, and one that I shall never to able to get into literature. He will answer: We invent nothing; we can but perceive. And then, exhilarated, carried beyond myself, I will say: Dujardin, I will tell you something still more wonderful than the last gaffe. II gaffe dans les Quat'z Arts. He admires Ibsen, but you'd never guess the reason why—because he is very like Racine; both of them, he says, are classical writers. And do you know how he arrived at that point? Because nobody is killed on the stage in Racine or in Ibsen. He does not see that the intention of Racine is to represent men and women out of time and out of space, unconditioned by environment, and that the very first principle of Ibsen's art is the relation of his characters to their environment. In many passages he merely dramatises Darwin. There never was anybody so interesting as dear Edward, and there never will be anybody like him in literature ... I will explain why presently, but I must first tell you another anecdote. I went to see him one night, and he told me that the theme of the play he was writing was a man who had married a woman because he had lost faith in himself; the man did not know, however, that the woman had married him for the same reason, and the two of them were thinking—I have forgotten what they were thinking, but I remember Edward saying: I should like to suggest hopelessness. I urged many phrases, but he said: It isn't a phrase I want, but an actual thing. I was thinking of a broken anchor—that surely is a symbol of hopelessness. Yes, I said, no doubt, but how are you going to get a broken anchor into a drawing-room? I don't write about drawing-rooms. Well, living-rooms. It isn't likely that they would buy a broken anchor and put it up by the coal-scuttle.
There's that against it, he answered. If you could suggest anything better—What do you think of a library in which there is nothing but unacted plays? The characters could say, when there was nothing for them to do on the stage, that they were going to the library to read, and the library would have the advantage of reminding everybody of the garret in the Wild Duck. A very cruel answer, my friend, Dujardin will say, and I will tell him that I can't help seeing in Edward something beyond Shakespeare or Balzac. Now, tell me, which of these anecdotes I have told you is the most humorous? He will not answer my question, but a certain thoughtfulness will begin to settle in his face, and he will say: Everything with him is accidental, and when his memory fails him he falls into another mistake, and he amuses you because it is impossible for you to anticipate his next mistake. You know there is going to be one; there must be one, for he sees things separately rather than relatively. I am beginning to understand your friend.
You are, you are; you are doing splendidly. But you haven't told me, Dujardin, which anecdote you prefer. Stay, there is another one. Perhaps this one will help you to a still better understanding. When he brought The Heather Field and Yeats's play The Countess Cathleen to Dublin for performance, a great trouble of conscience awakened suddenly in him, and a few days before the performance he went to a theologian to ask him if The Countess Cathleen were a heretical work, and, if it were would Almighty God hold him responsible for the performance? But he couldn't withdraw Yeats's play without withdrawing his own, and it appears that he breathed a sigh of relief when a common friend referred the whole matter to two other theologians, and as these gave their consent Edward allowed the plays to go on; but Cardinal Logue intervened, and wrote a letter to the papers to say that the play seemed to him unfit for Catholic ears, and Edward would have withdrawn the plays if the Cardinal hadn't admitted in his letter that he had judged the play by certain extracts only.
He wishes to act rightly, but has little faith in himself; and what makes him so amusing is that he needs advice in aesthetics as well as in morals. We are, I said, Dujardin, at the roots of conscience. And I began to ponder the question what would happen to Edward if we lived in a world in which aesthetics ruled: I should be where Bishop Healy is, and he would be a thin, small voice crying in the wilderness—an amusing subject of meditation, from which I awoke suddenly.
I wonder how Dujardin is getting on with his Biblical studies? Last year he was calling into question the authorship of the Romans—a most eccentric view; and, remembering how weakly I had answered him, I took the Bible from the table and began to read the Epistle with a view to furnishing myself with arguments wherewith to confute him. My Bible opened at the ninth chapter, and I said: Why, here is the authority for the Countess Cathleen's sacrifice which Edward's theologian deemed untheological. It will be great fun to poke Edward up with St Paul, and on my way to Lincoln Place I thought how I might lead the conversation to The Countess Cathleen.
📷
A few minutes afterwards a light appeared on the staircase and the door slowly opened.
Come in, Siegfried, though you were off the key.
Well, my dear friend, it is a difficult matter to whistle above two trams passing simultaneously and six people jabbering round a public-house, to say nothing of a jarvey or two, and you perhaps dozing in your armchair, as your habit often is. You won't open to anything else except a motive from The Ring; and I stumbled up the stairs in front of Edward, who followed with a candle.
Wait a moment; let me go first and I'll turn up the gas.
You aren't sitting in the dark, are you?
No, but I read better by candle-light, and he blew out the candles in the tin candelabrum that he had made for himself. He is original even in his candelabrum; no one before him had ever thought of a caridelabrum in tin, and I fell to admiring his appearance more carefully than perhaps I had ever done before, so monumental did he seem lying on the little sofa sheltered from daughts by a screen, a shawl about his shoulders. His churchwarden was drawing famously, and I noticed his great square hands with strong fingers and square nails pared closely away, and as heretofore I admired the curve of the great belly, the thickness of the thighs, the length and breadth and the width of his foot hanging over the edge of the sofa, the apoplectic neck falling into great rolls of flesh, the humid eyes, the skull covered with short stubbly hair. I looked round the rooms and they seemed part of himself: the old green wallpaper on which he pins reproductions of the Italian masters. And I longed to peep once more into the bare bedroom into which he goes to fetch bottles of Apollinaris. Always original! Is there another man in this world whose income is two thousand a year, and who sleeps in a bare bedroom, without dressing-room, or bathroom, or servant in the house to brush his clothes, and who has to go to the baker's for his breakfast?
We had been talking for some time of the Gaelic League, and from Hyde it was easy to pass to Yeats and his plays.
His best play is The Countess Cathleen.
The Countess Cathleen is only a sketch.
But what I never could understand, Edward, was why you and the Cardinal could have had any doubts as to the orthodoxy of The Countess Cathleen.
What, a woman that sells her own soul in order to save the souls of others!
I suppose your theologian objected—
Of course he objected.
He cannot have read St Paul.
What do you mean?
He can't have read St Paul, or else he is prepared to throw over St Paul.
Mon ami Moore, mon ami Moore.
The supernatural idealism of a man who would sell his soul to save the souls of others fills me with awe.
But it wasn't a man; it was the Countess Cathleen, and women are never idealists.
Not the saints?
His face grew solemn at once.
If you give me the Epistles I will read the passage to you. And it was great fun to go to the bookshelves and read: I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh.
Edward's face grew more and more solemn, and I wondered of what he was thinking.
Paul is a very difficult and a very obscure writer, and I think the Church is quite right not to encourage the reading of the Epistles, especially without comments.
Then you do think there is something in the passage I have read?
After looking down his dignified nose for a long time, he said:
Of course, the Church has an explanation. All the same, it's very odd that St Paul should have said such a thing—very odd.
There is no doubt that I owe a great deal of my happiness to Edward; all my life long he has been exquisite entertainment. And I fell to thinking that Nature was very cruel to have led me, like Moses, within sight of the Promised Land. A story would be necessary to bring Edward into literature, and it would be impossible to devise an action of which he should be a part. The sex of a woman is odious to him, and a man with two thousand a year does not rob nor steal, and he is so uninterested in his fellow-men that he has never an ill word to say about anybody. John Eglinton is a little thing; AE is a soul that few will understand; but Edward is universal—more universal than Yeats, than myself, than any of us, but for lack of a story I shall not be able to give him the immortality in literature which he seeks in sacraments. Shakespeare always took his stories from some other people. Turgenev's portrait of him would be thin, poor, and evasive, and Balzac would give us the portrait of a mere fool. And Edward is not a fool. As I understand him he is a temperament without a rudder; all he has to rely upon is his memory, which isn't a very good one, and so he tumbles from one mistake into another. My God! it is a terrible thing to happen to one, to understand a man better than he understands himself, and to be powerless to help him. If I had been able to undo his faith I should have raised him to the level of Sir Horace Plunkett, but he resisted me; and perhaps he did well, for he came into the world seeing things separately rather than relatively, and had to be a Catholic. He is a born Catholic, and I remembered one of his confessions—a partial confession, but a confession: If you had been brought up as strictly as I have been—I don't think he ever finished the sentence; he often leaves sentences unfinished, as if he fears to think things out. The end of the sentence should run: You would not dare to think independently. He thinks that his severe bringing-up has robbed him of something. But the prisoner ends by liking his prison-house, and on another occasion he said: If it hadn't been for the Church, I don't know what would have happened to me.
My thoughts stopped, and when I awoke I was thinking of Hughes. Perhaps the link between Hughes and Edward was Loughrea Cathedral. He had shown me a photograph of some saints modelled by Hughes. Hughes is away in Paris, I said, modelling saints for Loughrea Cathedral. The last time I saw him was at Walter Osborne's funeral, and Walter's death set me thinking of the woman I had lost, and little by little all she had told me about herself floated up in my mind like something that I had read. I had never seen her father nor the Putney villa in which she had been brought up, but she had made me familiar with both through her pleasant mode of conversation, which was never to describe anything, but just to talk about things, dropping phrases here and there, and the phrases she dropped were so well chosen that the comfort of the villa, its pompous meals and numerous servants, its gardens and greenhouses, with stables and coach-house just behind, are as well known to me as the house that I am living in, better known in a way, for I see it through the eyes of the imagination ... clearer eyes than the physical eyes.
It does not seem to me that any one was ever more conscious of whence she had come and of what she had been; she seemed to be able to see herself as a child again, and to describe her childhood with her brother (they were nearly the same age) in the villa and in the villa's garden. I seemed to see them always as two rather staid children who were being constantly dressed by diligent nurses and taken out for long drives in the family carriage. They did not like these drives and used to hide in the garden; but their governess was sent to fetch them, and they were brought back. Her father did not like to have the horses kept waiting, and one day as Stella stood with him in the passage, she saw her mother come out of her bedroom beautifully dressed. Her father whispered something in his wife's ear, and he followed her into her bedroom. Stella remembered how the door closed behind them. In my telling, the incident seems to lose some of its point, but in Stella's relation it seemed to put her father and his wife before me and so clearly that I could not help asking her what answer her father would make were she to tell him that she had a lover. A smile hovered in her grave face. He would look embarrassed, she said, and wonder why I should have told him such a thing, and then I think he would go to the greenhouse, and when he returned he would talk to me about something quite different. I don't think that Stella ever told me about the people that came to their house, but people must have come to it, and as an example of how a few words can convey an environment I will quote her: I always wanted to talk about Rossetti, she said, and these seven words seem to me to tell better than any description the life of a girl living with a formal father in a Putney villa, longing for something, not knowing exactly what, and anxious to get away from home.... I think she told me she was eighteen or nineteen and had started painting before she met Florence at the house of one of her father's friends; a somewhat sore point this meeting was, for Florence was looked upon by Stella's father as something of a Bohemian. She was a painter, and knew all the Art classes and the fees that had to be paid, and led Stella into the world of studios and models and girl friends. She knew how to find studios and could plan out a journey abroad. Stella's imagination was captured, and even if her father had tried to offer opposition to her leaving home he could not have prevented her, for she was an heiress (her mother was dead and had left her a considerable income); but he did not try, and the two girls set up house together in Chelsea; they travelled in Italy and Spain; they had a cottage in the country; they painted pictures and exhibited their pictures in the same exhibitions; they gave dances in their studios and were attracted by this young man and the other; but Stella did not give herself to any one, because, as she admitted to me, she was afraid that a lover would interrupt the devotion which she intended to give to Art. But life is forever casting itself into new shapes and forms, and no sooner had she begun to express herself in Art than she met me. I was about to go to Ireland to preach a new gospel, and must have seemed a very impulsive and fantastic person to her, but were not impulsiveness and fantasy just the qualities that would appeal to her? And were not gravity and good sense the qualities that would appeal to me, determined as I was then to indulge myself in a little madness?
I could not have chosen a saner companion than Stella; my instinct had led me to her; but because one man's instinct is a little more clear than another's, it does not follow that he has called reason to his aid. It must be remembered always that the art of painting is as inveterate in me as the art of writing, and that I am never altogether myself when far away from the smell of oil paint. Stella could talk to one about painting, and all through that wonderful summer described in Salve our talk flowed on as delightfully as a breeze in Maytime, and as irresponsible, flashing thoughts going by and avowals perfumed with memories. Only in her garden did conversation fail us, for in her garden Stella could think only of her flowers, and it seemed an indiscretion to follow her as she went through the twilight gathering dead blooms or freeing plants from noxious insects. But she would have had me follow her, and I think was always a little grieved that I wasn't as interested in her garden as I was in her painting; and my absent-mindedness when I followed her often vexed her and my mistakes distressed her.
You are interested, she said, only in what I say about flowers and not in the flowers themselves. You like to hear me tell about Miss —— whose business in life is to grow carnations, because you already see her, dimly, perhaps, but still you see her in a story. Forget her and look at this Miss Shifner!
Yes, it is beautiful, but we can only admire the flowers that we notice when we are children, I answered. Dahlias, china roses, red and yellow tulips, tawny wallflowers, purple pansies, are never long out of my thoughts, and all the wonderful varieties of the iris, the beautiful blue satin and the cream, some shining like porcelain, even the common iris that grows about the moat.
But there were carnations in your mother's garden?
Yes, and I remember seeing them being tied with bass. But what did you say yesterday about carnations? That they were the—
She laughed and would not tell me, and when the twilight stooped over the high trees and the bats flitted and the garden was silent except when a fish leaped, I begged her to come away to the wild growths that I loved better than the flowers.
But the mallow and willow-weed are the only two that you recognise. How many times have I told you the difference between self-heal and tufted vetch?
I like cow parsley and wild hyacinths and—
You have forgotten the name. As well speak of a woman that you loved but whose name you had forgotten.
Well, if I have, I love trees better than you do, Stella. You pass under a fir unstirred by the mystery of its branches, and I wonder at you, for I am a tree worshipper, even as my ancestors, and am moved as they were by the dizzy height of a great silver fir. You like to paint trees, and I should like to paint flowers if I could paint; there we are set forth, you and I.
I have told in Salve that in Rathfarnham she found many motives for painting; the shape of the land and the spire above the straggling village appealed to me, but she was not altogether herself in these pictures. She would have liked the village away, for man and his dwellings did not form part of her conception of a landscape; large trees and a flight of clouds above the trees were her selection, and the almost unconscious life of kine wandering or sheep seeking the shelter of a tree.
Stella was a good walker, and we followed the long road leading from Rathfarnham up the hills, stopping to admire the long plain which we could see through the comely trees shooting out of the shelving hillside.
If I have beguiled you into a country where there are no artists and few men of letters, you can't say that I have not shown you comely trees. And now if you can walk two miles farther up this steep road I will show you a lovely prospect.
And I enjoyed her grave admiration of the old Queen Anne dwelling-house, its rough masonry, the yew hedges, the path along the hillside leading to the Druid altar and the coast-line sweeping in beautiful curves, but she did not like to hear me say that the drawing of the shore reminded her of Corot.
It is a sad affectation, she said, to speak of Nature reminding one of pictures.
Well, the outlines of Howth are beautiful, I answered, and the haze is incomparable. I should like to have spoken about a piece of sculpture, but for your sake, Stella, I refrain.
She was interested in things rather than ideas, and I remember her saying to me that things interest us only because we know that they are always slipping from us. A strange thing for a woman to say to her lover. She noticed all the changes of the seasons and loved them, and taught me to love them. She brought a lamb back from Rathfarnham, a poor forlorn thing that had run bleating so pitifully across the windy field that she had asked the shepherd where the ewe was, and he had answered that she had been killed overnight by a golf-ball. The lamb will be dead before morning, he added. And it was that March that the donkey produced a foal, a poor ragged thing that did not look as if it ever could be larger than a goat, but the donkey loved her foal.
Do you know the names of those two birds flying up and down the river?
They look to me like two large wrens with white waistcoats.
They are water-ouzels, she said.
The birds flew with rapid strokes of the wings, like kingfishers, alighting constantly on the river, on large mossy stones, and though we saw them plunge into the water, it was not to swim, but to run along the bottom in search of worms.
But do worms live under water?
The rooks were building, and a little while after a great scuffling was heard in one of the chimneys and a young jackdaw came down and soon became tamer than any bird I had ever seen, tamer than a parrot, and at the end of May the corncrake called from the meadow that summer had come again, and the kine wandered in deeper and deeper and deeper herbage. The days seemed never to end, and looking through the branches of the chestnut in which the fruit had not begun to show, we caught sight of a strange spectacle. Stella said, A lunar rainbow, and I wondered, never having heard of or seen such a thing before.
I shall never forget that rainbow, Stella, and am glad that we saw it together.
In every love story lovers reprove each other for lack of affection, and Stella had often sent me angry letters which caused me many heart-burnings and brought me out to her; in the garden there were reconciliations, we picked up the thread again, and the summer had passed before the reason of these quarrels became clear to me. One September evening Stella said she would accompany me to the gate, and we had not gone very far before I began to notice that she was quarrelling with me. She spoke of the loneliness of the Moat House, and I had answered that she had not been alone two evenings that week. She admitted my devotion. And if you admit that there has been no neglect—
She would not tell me, but there was something she was not satisfied with, and before we reached the end of the avenue she said, I don't think I can tell you. But on being pressed she said:
Well, you don't make love to me often enough.
And full of apologies I answered, Let me go back.
No, I can't have you back now, not after having spoken like that.
But she yielded to my invitation, and we returned to the house, and next morning I went back to Dublin a little dazed, a little shaken.
A few days after she went away to Italy to spend the winter and wrote me long letters, interesting me in herself, in the villagers, in the walks and the things that she saw in her walks, setting me sighing that she was away from me, or that I was not with her. And going to the window I would stand for a long time watching the hawthorns in their bleak wintry discontent, thinking how the sunlight fell into the Italian gardens, and caught the corner of the ruin she was sketching; and I let my fancy stray for a time unchecked. It would be wonderful to be in Italy with her, but—
I turned from the window suspicious, for there was a feeling at the back of my mind that with her return an anxiety would come into my life that I would willingly be without. She had told me she had refrained from a lover because she wished to keep all herself for her painting, and now she had taken to herself a lover. She was twenty years younger than I was, and at forty-six or thereabouts one begins to feel that one's time for love is over; one is consultant rather than practitioner. But it was impossible to dismiss the subject with a jest, and I found myself face to face with the question—If these twenty years were removed, would things be different? It seemed to me that the difficulty that had arisen would have been the same earlier in my life as it was now, and returning to the window I watched the hawthorns blowing under the cold grey Dublin sky.
The problem is set, I said, for the married, and every couple has to solve it in one way or another, but they have to solve it; they have to come to terms with love, especially the man, for whom it is a question of life and death. But how do they come to terms? And I thought of the different married people I knew. Which would be most likely to advise me—the man or the woman? It would be no use to seek advice; every case is different, I said. If anybody were to advise me it would be the man, for the problem is not so difficult for a woman. She can escape from love more easily than her lover or her husband; she can plead, and her many pleadings were considered, one by one, and how in married life the solution that seems to lovers so difficult is solved by marriage itself, by propinquity. But not always, not always. The question is one of extraordinary interest and importance; more marriages come to shipwreck, I am convinced, on this very question than upon any other. In the divorce cases published we read of incompatibility of temper and lack of mutual tastes, mere euphemisms that deceive nobody. The image of a shipwreck rose up in me naturally. She will return, and like a ship our love for each other will be beaten on these rocks and broken. We shall not be able to get out to sea. She will return, and when she returns her temperament will have to be adjusted to mine, else she will lose me altogether, for men have died of love, though Shakespeare says they haven't. Manet and Daudet—both died of love; and the somewhat absurd spectacle of a lover waiting for his mistress to return, and yet dreading her returning, was constantly before me.
It often seemed to me that it was my own weakness that created our embarrassment. A stronger man would have been able to find a way out, but I am not one that can shape and mould another according to my desire; and when she returned from Italy I found myself more helpless than ever, and I remember, and with shame, how, to avoid being alone with her, I would run down the entire length of a train, avoiding the empty carriages, crying Not here, not here! at last opening the door of one occupied by three or four people, who all looked as if they were bound for a long journey. I remember, too, how about this time I came with friends to see Stella, whether by accident or design, frankly I know not; I only know that I brought many friends to see her, thinking they would interest her.
If you don't care to come to see me without a chaperon, I would rather you didn't come at all, she said, humiliating me very deeply.
It seemed to me, I answered, blushing, that you would like to see ——, and I mentioned the name of the man who had accompanied me.
If I am cross sometimes it is because I don't see enough of you.
It seems to me that it was then that the resolve hardened in my heart to become her friend ... if she would allow me to become her friend. But in what words should I frame my request and my apology? All the time our life was becoming less amiable, until one evening I nipped the quarrel that was beginning, stopping suddenly at the end of the avenue.
It is better that we should understand each other. The plain truth is that I must cease to be your lover unless my life is to be sacrificed.
Cease to be my lover!
That is impossible, but a change comes into every love story.
The explanation stuttered on. I remember her saying: I don't wish you to sacrifice your life. I have forgotten the end of her sentence. She drew her hand suddenly across her eyes. I will conquer this obsession.
A man would have whined and cried and besought and worried his mistress out of her wits. Women behave better than we; only once did her feelings overcome her. She spoke to me of the deception that life is. Again we were standing by the gate at the end of the chestnut avenue, and I remembered her telling me how a few years ago life had seemed to hold out its hands to her; her painting and her youth created her enjoyment.
But now life seems to have shrivelled up, she said; only a little dust is left.
Nothing is changed, so far as you and I are concerned. We see each other just the same.
I am no more to you than any other woman.
She went away again to Italy to paint and returned to Ireland, and one day she came to see me, and remained talking for an hour. I have no memory of what we said to each other, but a very clear memory of our walk through Dublin over Carlisle Bridge and along the quays. I had accompanied her as far as the Phoenix Park gates, and at the corner of the Conyngham Road, just as I was bidding her goodbye, she said:
I want to ask your advice on a matter of importance to me.
And to me, for what is important to you is equally important to me.
I am thinking, she said, of being married.
At the news it seems to me that I was unduly elated and tried to assume the interest that a friend should.

I really feel for you guys that do. Doing the math year over yr just a 60k loan turns out to be a 360,000 loan with the interest incurred. It's legal highway robbery . That being said If anyone js physically able and mentally able, I highly recommend you do just 4 yrs of your life in service( not all jobs in the military are combat related, and if you already have a degree and join you can join as an officer. With all benefits combined officers start at around 50-70k not including the free health care. And more than likely upon leaving service, you'll be eligible for at least a ten percent va rating( service connected means anything that happens to you while youre in, normal wear and tear on your body will get you at least 10 percent) , which qualifies you for another education benefit called VR &E which in my case will cover my education all the way up to a masters and pay me a housing stipend every month to go to school. While I know first hand the military can suck to be in at times, what you get and where your life could be for just giving 4 yrs of your time to your country could put you ahead ten times over, while still recieving very good compensation while serving should you go the officer route. Anyone without a degree youre starting at like 1900 a month , but your housing is paid for free health care 0 living expenses. If you join after you already uave a college degree? They offer debt forgiveness up to 100 percent , which means just for serving your debt is completely wiped. 4 yrs is a small price of your civil freedom for so many benefits that could help you ultimately the rest of your life. Also I'm not a recruiter nor affiliated with the service anymore , but it helped me 10000 times over. There's also reservist side where ur a weekend warrior ( you will probably get mobilized at some point for 9 loathsome to a year which counts as active duty time) and essentially like a part time service member, and still get the benefits of college and pay. ( and 03 makes about 700 after taxes for one weekend of work for the month) 4 yrs of life is a small pr8ce to pay considering all the benefits you get while and even potentially after serving.

Hello Brothers,
Today I want to share an understanding of the aspect of old unresolved emotions emerging to the awareness again, which makes us feel so uncomfortable during our SR journey.
This aspect is less discussed here, so I would like to shine a light on what is really happening.
So with the right understanding of the process, we could enjoy the 'Torture' it gives, rather than thinking about relapse or making it a 'hard journey' than it actually is.
​
Why it happens?
First of all, let's understand about our mind.
The mind has only two functions according to the Buddhist perspective.

1. Clinging (Wanting a certain emotion to be experienced again and again)
2. Resisting (Not letting a certain emotion to be experienced fully)

Let that settle down for a bit.
We don't allow the reality to unfold as it is. We always want to manipulate the reality in order to feel good (Experiencing the specific 'Clinged' emotion again) and not to feel bad (Avoiding the specific 'Resisted' emotions)
And, when the reality is not going according to our own personal preference, we suffer.
All of our suffering are only due to this two reasons. These two activities of the mind forms the personal preference.
Now, when the mind clings to an emotion, or resists an emotion, the energy of that 'unexperienced' emotion gets locked in the body.
That energy wants to be released and to be experienced by awareness, so that it can finally release itself from the 'Body prison'.
This 'locked' energy creates thoughts of it's own kind, in order for it to be released all the time. These thoughts will not go away till the underlying energy that's driving them is felt and released.
Remember that disturbing thought your mind chatters with all the time? It has an underlying unexperienced emotion to it. The solution is to experience the emotion, not trying to shut down the thought.
Nearly all of our problems are Emotional, not psychological. Working with thoughts is a fool's game, and it leads us nowhere.
If we let go of clinging and resisting, the energy would be felt by consciousness and it is finally free. It doesn't exist anymore.
But here comes the tricky part.
For most of the things, we are not really aware that we have been clinging on or resisting against a particular emotion. It happenes unconsciously, by habit.
To cling on, or to resist an emotion takes effort by the mind. This effort is there 24*7, which is manifested as 'uneasiness' or 'stress' during the day.
Once there is an awareness, it becomes clear that there is an effort involved to hold on something. As a result, the effort naturally dies away. The energy is now free to move to consciousness and get experienced.
As a consequence, the 'uneasiness' or 'stress' drops down proportionally.
This is why meditators, and even retainers feel so calm and composed all the time.
Further, once you let go of clinging, you don't feel the need to experience that emotion again. Once you let go of resisting something, you don't feel the need to avoid that emotion again. As a result, you don't feel the need to do anything, you are contented all the time. This is the state of the enlightened masters.
The solution is to increase awareness somehow, so that the remaining process is automatically taken care.
With Semen Retention, our sexual energy is no longer at the deficit state, so it is now increasing our awareness.
Whether the awareness is increased through Semen Retention, Qi Gong or Meditation - the method doesn't really matter. The same consequences will follow for all the practice that increases the awareness.
​
Being Aware:
​

Bodhidharma sat facing the wall.
The Patriarch stood in the snow.
He cut off his arm and presented it to Bodhidharma, crying, “My mind has no peace as yet! I beg you, master, please pacify my mind!”
“Bring your mind here and I will pacify it for you,” replied Bodhidharma.
“I have searched for my mind, and I cannot take hold of it,” said the Patriarch.
“Now your mind is pacified,” said Bodhidharma

​
The Western approach has invented a lot of psychological tricks to interfere mind and make it bend according to our will. Well, those tricks have yielded result to a very small extent, but it's not the best way to deal with the mind.
The eastern approach to mind is to leave it alone, and just witness it. This approach has worked for thousand of years, wonderfully.
At this point, it's very important to understand that when an old uncomfortable emotion hits, DO NOTHING AND BE AWARE.
Experience those uncomfortable emotions. There comes a point where you have less and less 'locked' emotions in you, the more and more elevated and peaceful you will feel.
The mind will make all sorts of rationalization to justify it's escape from experiencing the emotion.
The point is to keep redirecting our attention from thoughts to emotions.
Don't focus on WHAT DO I THINK? Focus on WHAT DO I FEEL?
Just be aware of the emotions.
​
TL: DR;
Face the dragon. You don't even have to slay it, just face it. The gold will be yours once the dragon realizes that you are still there even after getting fully attacked by it.

Decided to try the new tincture from MBG, that contains 3000mg D8 and 800 full spectrum CBD. The seller was new for me and I was worried about the cheap prices and quality. The parcel arrived within three days, and the delivery was free, which is good news because sometimes you have to pay 20-25% for delivery if you take a small amount f.ex.(30£-3.5g plus 7£ for delivery).
The tincture is oily, colorless and tasteless, the bottle contains ~200 drops i.e. ~15 mg drop. My toller is above overage, I tried 3 drops (because I was afraid to take too much)but I didn’t feel anything. I began to think that it was just CBD and I took 5 more. Oh yeah!!! A wave of relaxation went through the whole body but at the same time mind was clear. No bad thoughts, paranoia, and introspection. I really liked it because there was no psychedelia like from regular D9 or HHC. The effect was felt the next day, but I took 20-25 drops that day.
Ask me if the tincture works? Short answer yes, but I'm not sure about concentration in three days I took ~750-1000mg and I would not say that I was in the stratosphere or in space mb it’s how d8 works or just my tolerance.
Sum up
I got indescribable emotions, the price is the best on the UK market if you do not want to risk and order abroad. The effect is just super bomb if you are prone to depression and anxiety like me, but at the same time you wanna get high this is what you need.
P.S. Maybe soon I will try hashish from this seller because I hear only good reviews. Also in couple days review on HHC cart from CBDBoyz.

Share text, links, videos about the sanctions that are being imposed on Russia. What sanctions are being imposed. Do they work!? And what is the future of Russias, as the days go, and in the long run. And if you have other ideas, pleas feel free
It looks like the whole world is turning on right now

My family and I, 43 female, had been planning a trip to the happiest place on earth for almost a year for thanksgiving 2022. Since we booked a condo and had extra room-we invited my little brother and sister in law to be to go with us too. They’re both 25 I only mention this because I think it affects the story.
So fast forward to the Fall. We lose our other brother to deteriorating health. Although not completely unexpected-he was still my little brother and it was avoidable so it was absolutely devastating. I said then we should reschedule the trip-my dad insisted that the kids had been waiting for this and my brother wouldn’t have wanted that. So we pushed through.
It’s just my dad, so I took on the role as the oldest sibling as I usually do, and planned his entire memorial. I didn’t give myself a chance to process until it was over. And when I did I fell completely apart. To the point that I had to voluntarily admit myself into the hospital. We were now a WEEK out from our trip! My sis in law was packing as I was getting medicated!I know BIZARRE!! My sweet husband handled all the last minute trip items while he spoke to my doctors and they assured him I would be ok and I just needed to get a few meds and grief takes time, etc. So we moved forward with the trip. And I’m glad we did…for the most part.
So I get out, I turn around and pack to leave two days later. We’re traveling with myself and spouse, my brother and sis in law, my 12 year old Star Wars fanatic of a kid, meeting our foreign exchange student from a previous year in Orlando, and my special needs sister who lives with us. All of us in a condo and a week in the parks. I’m sure this sounds like we’re crazy already right?! But- We arrive at our destination, spend several wonderful days in both big theme parks and have a wonderful time!
Until day five. The plan was for us to take the Star Wars nut to Star Wars and my brother to take my sister for the morning/early afternoon. I assumed we’d meet up by lunch or something. Communication isn’t easy when you’re 1-having a great time 2-on and off rides 3-in a crowded theme park. So there was a miscommunication on when we were meeting up let’s just say that.
Brother & sis in law wanted to ride a ride that had a long wait time. When I called to check on when and where to meet they told me they’d left my sister at the exit to the ride and were in line to ride it. They said they left her w/food and a drink and she’d be fine. Now the last time I checked the wait time on that ride it said 3 hours-so I FLIPPED out! I yelled something at him over the phone half in hysterics and raced across the entire park, to the exit to find my sister. I found her! My husband, kid and exchange student met up with us later and all was fine, thank god. But I was Infuriated and shocked that he would do this. And my mama bear (mom of 3 plus 1) kicked in. When we met up with them he was mad I hung up on him?! I exploded!!! Yes, in public, at the happiest place on earth. And so there we were being an embarrassment. He walked away because he wasn’t going to be a part of it, my sister in law started crying because she couldn’t find him-it was a cluster****!
Late that night back at the condo, they all left so we could us try to talk it out. And instead of making things better I threw some below the belt comments that I don’t think I did intentionally, but I was an emotional mess at the time and he was an explosive bear by this point. And It was UGLY! It ended up with them taking our shared rental car staying in a hotel the last day and not even going to the parks and leaving on a different flight. :(
I know we both could’ve handled it better; but little brother is the age of my oldest son! So I know I’m the adultier adult. We have NEVER fought like this! Our family doesn’t DO this! We were SO close, his gf and I like sisters. He was like all that I have left and we haven't spoken since. I know we were both *****. I want them back, like how things used to be. There’s a hole in my heart and I miss them so much! Is there any hope?!

Lockdown was really hard for me. I want you to know that because I don't think it even crossed your mind to think about it. I went from being mentally exhausted to becoming downright incapable of a lot of things. This includes hanging out with you and the rest of you. It hurts most because even through lockdown I had to watch all of you sacrifice things for each other to be with each other and I was never considered in that. I was alone. And I came out of it all feeling even more alone.
The worst feeling in the world that will haunt me forever is watching you guys hang out with each other on my birthday while I was left alone and not even considered, was when a week after we all met up and you people spoke about how much of a good time ye all had and then turned to me and asked me what I did for it? Knowing full well what was up. Knowing full well that you all didn't invite me or even acknowledge me. Imagine being in a position where I'm confronted with that in a manner where I'm expected to just go along with your own bullshit and pretend for your own mental wellness that none of it even happened.
Then my mam died suddenly right in front of my eyes and to top it off I was diagnosed with something that really hampered my emotional well being even more. And I thought at least if I have my friends to comfort me and make me feel okay then I could live through it fine. But then you sat across from me in a room because you feared even being near me, alone with me and told me to my face that it was in fact the most disgusting thing in the world.
That's what I feel like now. The most disgusting person in the world. You never said sorry. You never said anything after. We're still playing your game of ignoring the horrible things you do and say or God forbid someone might see you for what you actually are.
This amongst soooo many other things you've done hurt me. And I'm still hurting.
But I'm writing this letter to you as something I'll never actually say to you in person. I've been going to therapy and I'm getting better. I realise through therapy that all is not as it seems. That you are in fact a narcissistic asshole and I have found the bravery within myself to finally admit to myself that I don't actually like you. I hate you and that's actually okay. It's okay not to like somebody, it does not make me horrible or crazy or any mental character assassination diagnosis you want to throw at me this week. It makes me human.
Im finally learning to understand myself but more importantly I'm finally learning to love myself ❤ When I get even better I'm going to find my own tribe who love me and want to be with me and value me as a human being. Im going to do it all on my own and when I do there won't even be a goodbye to you and I can't tell you how happy I am right now with that plan in mind. I can't wait to be set free of you all but especially you in particular.
So until then let's keep playing your games let's keep pretending your a nice person. And in the back of my mind, always, fuck you.

So I never used to have this issue I've been celiac diagnosed for 6 years if not longer. I've gone on multiple trips and no matter where I went they typically had in-hotel breakfasts I could enjoy. But lately within the last year or so-they'll promise a breakfast and I'll go down and the only thing I can have is a bowl of cereal and yogurt. Because everything else is waffles or biscuit gravy or biscuits and bagels. All things I cannot eat.
This used to never happen and the place I'm at right now is actually pretty nice so I was so excited to see breakfast this morning only to get hit with the reality. This is the second time this has happened and I have no clue how to avoid going to hotels like this in the future and how you even know which places mean an ACTUAL breakfast.

I (22f) have been living on my own since I was 17 and have struggled holding down a job for the last 5 years and am still in debt. I couldn't afford breakfast or lunch today and I won't tomorrow either.
The world is screwed and I have no money, I had to buy a cat just to have something to live for and I feed him rather than myself because I would have committed by now if I didn't have him.
Working 42hrs a week gave me lifelong neurological illness that the doctor said will never go away and all my symptoms are incurable. I am in pain every waking moment and I cannot work as much so I have LESS money than when I was forced to work that much.
And I have trauma coming out my fucking ears and I have been trying to get therapy for SIX YEARS. I am a survivor of horrible shit so every doctor says I'm too complicated for them and they keep making me wait. I have been dealing with being a survivor of in*est, trafficking and abuse since I was A TINY LITTLE BABY. But nobody wants to help me or my very likely DID that RUINS MY FUCKING LIFE
For my birthday in April I wanted to take the train to London, stay in a cheap hotel for a couple days and visit the free museums. It's nearly June and I still can't afford it. I cried thinking about how thats my "big" plan I'm looking forward to. Rich people have things like greece or spain and I can't even do my little London trip.
Life won't get better. The next person to say that to me is getting an earful.
I grew up with nothing and I'm going to keep having nothing until the day I die, and then there will be nothing waiting for me because life is one big SCAM that I fell for.

I work with at a school for kids with ASD, and I'm always doing something and have a task to focus on and accomplish. Now I'm feeling kinda listless without having to leave at the normal time and be getting ready for homeroom now and that kind of stuff.
I really only have a couple PC games to play and a book to read. Any recommendations for passing time or structuring this much free time?

So, yesterday I completed main story and want to play more, have another ending, complete side-quests, that I left behind, etc 1) Is this "one time opportunity"? If I complete NG+ one time, can I do it once again and once again just for the sake of new endings? 2) (Connected to previous question) Description says, that I can find additional inhibitors. What if I find them all and start another NG+?(If it's possible) 3) What about items in my storage? Will they transfer as well as level, skills and inventory? 4) This question is about both NG+ and free-play. After completing the game for the best ending possible, can I do unfinished side quests or find ones, that I haven't find yet (like short stories with survivors on rooftops)? Asking because my ending wasn't the best (but Hakon still a real one bro lovehimandwanttobehisnextwife) and at one video about endings it was said, that one of them allows to complete everything that wasn't after it.

I've not been to a Disney Park before but since I'm from Germany a trip to Disneyland Paris is not far away (and I plan on visiting Disneyland Paris in the future). I read that Disney Sea is more geared towards adults bit Disneyland is more magical. I'm doing an internship in Chiba at the moment and tomorrow I have a free day which I wanted to use for a Disneypark. It will rain. So which park is better in the rain? What would you recommend? I would love for you to help me. Thanks a lot ❤️

https://www.reddit.com/wii/comments/13sy0c7/nintendo_logic/
removed for rule 1: piracy, which says

The sidebar for wii states that Piracy is not condoned by the Mods so acts such as linking to ROM/ISO sites and asking where to get/play a game for free is prohibited.

this person was neither linking to ROM/ISO sites nor asking where to get a game for free
also if your point is that emulation is piracy, IT IS NOT. there is no maybe, there is no gray area, emulating a game is not piracy, piracy is obtaining said game for free, so Dolphin on Steam is 100% legal
example: An independent developer make a band new game for the NES, and releases a digital copy. I buy the copy, and emulate it. I have not pirated because i paid for the game, even though i am emulating it.
the wii common keys are in a legal gray area, and it is unclear whether they are piracy or not, but unclear shouldn't mean it is piracy until it's proven it's not.
this post should have been banned not for violating rule 1 but for violating rule 6 : memes :

Memes and other "shitposts" are only allowed during Meme Mondays, which occur every Monday.

given it was uploaded on saturday
i am not, nor do i know the original author of the above post (u/TelephoneActive1539), and i am in no way speaking in their name, i am speaking in the name of freedom and unbiasedness of moderators
i do not think this post violates any of the rules of this subreddit, but if it does, i will make sure to modify it to fit into the rules of wii
-u/mariobot128, the 28th of May 2023
mods, if you remove this for "piracy", that would just prove my point

Hello to all
So, I am in a fucked up situation. My exam is in 2 weeks and I only did like 40 % of uw with an average of 75%.
I stopped it and took all nbmes with an average of 72%, lowest nbme was 68 and highest was 80%.
Free 120 was 75%.
I also did not do first aid.
I took all nbmes and revised every question.
I am an IMG and do not have much study time because I am working full time as a vascular surgeon. I am from Austria and my boss gave me 3 weeks off for it.
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So, should I take the exam considering my practice scores? I am just doing mehlman for last 2 weeks, with content review and bootcamp

If I wanna use a sample pack that I got for free through a youtuber. Say I wanna use an 808 for commercial use. Do I have to ask for a license?