General hospital dirty laundry

Toxic Rats: B, Geoff, Scott, Leshawna, Sammy, Sierra
Mutant Maggots: Anne Maria, Katie, Molly, Scarlett, Dave, DJ, Trent
Episode 02: Truth or Mutant Shark
"Last time, on Total Drama Revenge of the Island!" Chris opened over a long-distance shot of Wawanakwa, the recap montage beginning soon after. "Fourteen new competitors were blown away by this year's challenges," the host said as the yacht carrying the new cast was shown, Chris maliciously pressed a button on his remote control, and the yacht blew up. "They were treated to an early-morning swim," Max was shown trying not to drown, "said hello to the island's wildlife," Dave was shown to get nearly zapped by its eye-lasers, "and did some totem-surfing," the Toxic Rats slid down the hill and into the air, falling from their totem just before it crashed into the better cabin and exploded. "Ex-plosive!"
"In the end," a few short clips of Max trying to be villainous, "Max's non-stop claims about being dangerous made him useless enough that his team sent him packing, Hurl of Shame-style." The recap footage ended with Max getting catapulted off the island.
"Who'll go home next?" Chris asked the camera from the end of the dock. "And how much pain can I put them through first? Find out right now, on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!"
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The episode opened on a shot of the morning sky and a few far-away bird calls as the camera panned down to the two cabins of Camp Wawanakwa.
The shot cut inside to the girls' half of the Rats' cabins where Leshawna and Sammy were woken up to the sound of Sierra texting on her phone.
"The first day competing on Total Drama was exciting," Sierra talked to her phone. "I managed to make some friends and even though my team lost the first challenge, I'm still staying for another day!"
"Girl, who are you even talking to?" Leshawna mumbled tiredly.
"I'm giving the fans an update about my day and experience being a contestant," Sierra mentioned. "The fansite eats up this stuff."
"Are you going to carry your phone everywhere you go just to do so?" Sammy asked.
"I won't use it during the challenges, but I keep it with me at all times," Sierra said. "Without my phone, I'd probably lose my mind!"
Confessional: Sammy
"So I joined the show because my friend group suggested I do so," Sammy timidly said. "They said it's to increase my self-esteem and make me branch out more or something close to those lines."
Confessional Ends
The shot cut abruptly to a top-down view of the other half of the Rats' cabin, showing Geoff and B sleeping in their bunk beds. The sound of a door suddenly slammed open and slammed shut, waking Geoff up.
It was Scott – flat against the front door with his eyes wide, his breath heaving, and his clothes dirty. "Dude, what happened to you?" Geoff asked in concern.
Scott straightened himself out. "Oh, uh... just had an early morning make out session with one of the honeys," he explained.
Geoff got out of his bed in his pajamas and got near Scott. "Why are you so messy then?"
The footage quickly cut to a scene of Scott running in terror from a Woolly Beaver – one with several boney spikes jutting out of its back. The shot flashed back to the Rats' cabin, and Scott added "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
"Wait," Geoff stepped in. "You kissed a guy?" This comment earned him an annoyed expression from Scott.
Confessional: Scott
"All right. I was out looking for that hidden immunity idol, not that they need to know," Scott opened up. "It's all part of my strategy. Let my team lose so the Maggots develop a false sense of security before I pick 'em off!"
He was interrupted by a knock on the wall. "Occupied!" he shouted until the wholly beaver from earlier barged through the wall and frightened Scott into screaming.
Confessional Ends
The camera cut back outside the cabins, zooming on on the Maggots' abode on the right then cutting inside to show Anne Maria brushing and blow drying her hair.
Scarlett walked up behind her from the left carrying a clipboard. "How were you able to sneak those cans in?" she asked.
Anne Maria placed her items inside her pouf. "Easy. I stuck it in my pouf." She noticed the clipboard. "Why are you carryin' that clipboard?"
"I've been working on sleep analysis, Anne Maria," Scarlett answered. "Your stage two sleep spindles were low frequency followed by an intense delta or slow-wave. You slept well."
Anne Maria was a little surprised to hear that. "That's nice, but don't go spyin' on me." She grabbed her hairspray from her pouf and walked away spraying her hair.
Scarlett saw that Katie was still sleeping. "Seems Katie's sleep cycle is lower than I anticipated. Had she not tried to pull an all-nighter, she'd have a higher score," Scarlett spoke to herself.
Confessional: Scarlett
"I have the need to research my teammates and know what their weaknesses and strengths are," Scarlett said. "We were able to achieve victory in the first challenge, and I want to keep it that way."
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed to the boys' side of the cabin, the camera focusing on DJ as he woke up and stretched his arms. "Morning Trent and Dave!" the brickhouse greeted his bunkmates, though Dave wasn't around at the moment. "Where'd Dave go?"
Trent, who had also woken up, shrugged. "Beats me. He probably went to the bathroom."
Confessional: Trent
"This is my first time sleeping in a cabin," Trent confessed with his guitar on his lap. "It was hard trying to fall asleep, so I played some songs that were guaranteed to make me and the guys drift off… at least that's what my friends back home say."
"Anyway, my bunk mates are pretty cool. Dave's a bit neurotic, and DJ's more soft-spoken, but once I get to know them more, I can guarantee you we'll be best buds."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut to the back of the Maggots' cabin where Molly got out of a tent that she pitched.
Confessional: Molly
"I don't like bunk beds," Molly admitted with a shrug. "They tend to break no matter how stable it is. That's why I decided to sleep outside. Besides, I wanted to have a camping experience, and sleeping in a tent is the first way to go."
Confessional Ends
The footage returned to Molly stretching her body, and a few seconds later, Dave walked up to her. "Did you sleep outside of your cabin?"
"Yep," Molly nodded.
"Do you know the negatives of doing that?" Dave crossed his arms.
"I don't think so," Molly shook her head.
"You could get bug bites or get sick," Dave explained to the indie woman.
"I already planned for that," Molly laughed. "Ever heard of bug spray and sleeping bags?"
"I know those things, but why did you sleep outside?" Dave wondered.
"One, I prefer to sleep by myself, and two, I don't like sleeping indoors," Molly gives the germaphobe answers. "I hate following the crowd."
"Okay then," Dave said. "I'm gonna use the bathroom. Are you coming?"
"I'm already prepared," Molly took out toothpaste and a toothbrush.
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The scene cut to a seagull sleeping in a nest inside the horn of a loudspeaker. A blow horn sounded through it without warning, though, forcing the bird out into the air and revealing its snake-like features as it fell.
"Up and at 'em my little morning glories!" Chris called out, sitting on his ATV below. "It's time for today's challenge!" he announced, the camera moving behind him to show the two teams assembled in front, their respective logos appearing on the screen overhead.
"What?" Sierra asked in shock. "But we haven't even had breakfast yet!"
"Not a problem for me," Molly brushed it off and swallowed a pickle. "I packed enough pickles for me to be full."
"And we haven't had enough sleep," Katie added.
"Cognitive function is dependent on REM sleep," Scarlett acknowledged the host.
"You can catch up on your sleep after the challenge," Chris told them. "Rrright this way, to the Bay of Dismay!"
The thirteen campers groaned, except for Katie, who pulled out her tablet.
"Hey viewers! I'm gonna be at a Bay of Dismay," Katie started to film herself until Chris used a magnet to take her tablet away. "What the?"
"Contraband! Now it's mine! Confiscator's keepers! Come on! Your humiliation awaits!" Chris told a miserable Katie.
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The scene flashed ahead to the thirteen campers walking along at an even pace. "'Bay of Dismay'?" Trent told Anne Maria as they walked side-by-side. "That doesn't sound depressing at all."
"If Chris is gonna make us fight against alligators," Anne Maria said. "I'm planning on suing him after the show ends for breaking my nails."
Trent frowned, but chose to ignore it.
The camera lingered a few seconds as they walked off, long enough for DJ and Katie to enter the shot together. "So, what kinda challenge do you think Chris is gonna put us through this time?" DJ asked.
"I don't know," Katie answered without looking at him, "but I hope it's one that requires the use of a camera so I can take pictures with it, you know?"
DJ facepalmed, unseen by the influencer.
Confessional: Katie
"It's been four minutes, and I'm already missing my tablet," Katie squeaked out and huddled herself. "How will my viewers know what I'm doing right now?"
Confessional Ends
DJ decided to make Katie happy. "Maybe when the challenge is over, you could get your tablet back."
"Emphasis on maybe," Katie snarked.
"I don't know if this is going to be another physical challenge," Leshawna said to Sierra as the footage cut to the two of them walking together. "We already struggled getting that totem down last challenge."
"Chris probably has an academic challenge planned for us at the Bay of Dismay," Sierra told her as they walked forward, "and I know Chris isn't lying."
"How do you know Chris isn't frontin' us?" Leshawna asked.
"Basic knowledge," Sierra bragged. "I can tell if he's lying to us by his vocal pitch and body language."
"So you really studied the show and how it works, huh?" Leshawna followed up in surprise.
"Of course I have," Sierra said. "I've seen every episode like fifty-three times and auditioned twice before being accepted the second time."
B and Scarlett were now shown walking together. "Any idea on what we'll be facing up against?" the quiet brainiac asked the similarly intelligent boy, who didn't talk back to her. "I can see that you prefer not to vocalize your sentences like me, but you're more exaggerated."
Confessional: B
B simply shrugged in the confessional.
Confessional Ends
The static cut away to the body of water that was, presumably, the Bay of Dismay. Three structures rose out of its waters: on the left and right were two-tiered game-show-like seats that housed the Toxic Rats and Mutant Maggots respectively and bore their logos on the front; and in the middle was a single Greek pedestal upon which Chris stood in his blue tuxedo below a large video screen and electronic scoreboard.
"Welcome to the 'Getting to Know You' Trivia Game Challenge," Chris introduced. "Everyone strapped in all nice and snug?" he asked the contestants.
"Too snug," Scott answered irritably. "It's cutting into my shoulders!"
"Yeah, children's size harnesses will do that," Chris chuckled. "I'll be asking our players embarrassing personal questions," he explained, "and I mean majorly humiliating. If the player I'm talking about hits the poorly-wired buzzer and owns their humiliation before the time runs out," he continued as the shot cut back to Scott looking at the red buzzer on the counter in front of him, the camera zooming out to show Sierra on the left, Sammy on the right, and B, Leshawna, and Geoff on the back row, "their team gets a point." The camera panned across the Maggots, showing DJ, Molly, and Scarlett in the bottom row and Katie, Anne Maria, Dave, and Trent above. "First team to five wins part one, and a distinct advantage in part two."
"Buuut," Chris added as the shot cut back to him, "if no one owns up, this happens!" He took out his remote, pressed the button, and with a mechanical whir the elevated stand the Maggots were seated in suddenly dropped into the bay. The shot cut to the seven holding their breaths below the water, focusing in on DJ in particular. He looked around and screamed when he saw the large mutant shark with arms and legs looking at him hungrily, and his teammates joined in as the shark reared back to take a bite – but the stand rose back up just in time to take the teens away from danger.
The shot cut back to the surface as the Maggots re-emerged, dripping and coughing and generally frantic. "There's some kind of two-legged shark down there!" Anne Maria told the host in a panic.
"You mean Fang?" Chris asked with a broad smile and quick laugh. "Yeah, it turns out toxic waste can mess with stuff underwater too." He pointed up at the screen above him as he spoke, and the camera panned up to show a seemingly ordinary shark drinking a cup of tea on a wooden post underwater...until the screen flashed, and a picture of Fang against a simple teal background replaced the normal shark. "Who knew?"
"Better them than us," Scott said from the Rats' stand.
"Anywho," Chris continued slowly, "if a team gets dunked, their opponents can steal by guessing which dunk-ee is guilty. Guess right, and you get a point. Guess wrong, and this happens." With a sly look he pressed the button on his remote again, and this time it was the Rats who got plunged into the bay. Fang was shown tying a bib around his neck, then looking behind him just as the fresh set of teenagers came into view. He turned around and opened his mouth to bite, and with the muffled screams being heard the shot cut back to the bubbling surface. Chris pressed the button once more, and the Toxic Rats rocketed back up on their stand.
"Now that we understand the rules," Chris told them as they coughed up water, "let's start the game!" The host pulled a notecard out from behind his back. "To the Rats, now listen carefully," he began. "Who does this," he motioned upward to a picture of a question mark, "if they eat or drink any form of dairy?" the question mark farted.
All members of the Mutant Maggots began to laugh, as did the members of the Toxic Rats – all except Leshawna, who seemed to shrink in her seat as the camera zoomed in on her. "Where did you get that?" the sista asked in her embarrassment, pressing her buzzer and yelping at the shock she received.
The shot cut to the scoreboard, the Rats' half changing from 0 to 1.
The camera moved back to Chris and his card, now turned towards the Maggots. "Who sleeps with a teddy bear," he motioned upward to a picture of a brown teddy bear, "even after they turned 13?"
"Really? I thought we were more grown-up than that," Dave cringed at the fact.
Scarlett saw that DJ was feeling embarrassed. "Push the button, DJ! You're clearly harboring some guilt," Scarlett advised.
As the timer continued ticking, DJ finally shuddered, then slammed his right hand down on her buzzer. "Alright then," he declared after getting shocked, "it's me."
A bit of light laughter came from the Rats, and the scoreboard updated to show the Maggots' first point. "And it's one-all!" the host declared, earning a cheer from the Maggots.
"Aww, thanks DJ," Katie whispered to the drooping brickhouse. "I know that must've been hard, and I don't hold it against you."
"Really?" DJ regained his smile.
"I have my own collection of teddy bears in my room," Katie beamed.
Confessional: DJ
"Liking teddy bears is one thing me and Katie have in common," DJ smiled in the outhouse. "We'd have to get to know each other a bit more."
Confessional End
"Rats," Chris turned back to the other team, "whose first name is really Beverly?"
"That's not embarrassing," Trent called out defensively. "None of us will throw a fuss over a girl's name being Beverly."
Over to the Rats, Sierra was looking at a picture of Chris, Sammy was shrugging to signify it wasn't her, and Leshawna was just waiting for someone to buzz in.
B, on the other hand, looked down at his own buzzed timidly, and after some consideration, he pressed the buzzer and got shocked, raising his hand to let Chris know that he owned up to the question.
"Correct, Beverly," Chris teased the strong, silent genius. "Rats get the point, but I would've preferred a verbal response."
"But B is as quiet as a snail," Geoff piped up. "And we still got the point."
"Don't care," Chris said apathetically. "So, as a quick punishment." He smiled as he pushed the button on his remote again.
The Rats were plunged back into the water, and the camera focused on Scott as he hollered before getting chomped up by Fang, the stand rising back up as Fang struggled to close his jaws.
Scott managed to get out of Fang's mouth, shouting "No! Wait for me!" as he swam back to her seat.
Confessional: Scott
Scott winced in the confessional, pulling something white out of his butt. "What the? A shark tooth?" he asked, looking at what was obviously a shark's tooth.
Confessional: Fang
The next to use the confessional was none other than Fang, examining his mouth in a hand mirror with great concern. Upon noticing the gap in his upper row of sharp teeth, he growled angrily and snapped the mirror.
Confessionals End
Scott furiously climbed back into his seat. "Thanks for leaving me down there, team!" Scott scolded his teammates. "You can win this stupid challenge without me!"
"If he's not playing, then I'm not either," Anne Maria chimed in, the shot zooming back out as she and the other Maggots looked towards the host.
"I've already had a secret about me exposed, so I think I'll be leavin'," Leshawna declared.
"Okay, everyone just settle down," Chris told them all sternly.
"I'm with everyone else. We should stop," Molly said, standing up and trying to undo her harness. "I do not want any secrets of mine to be spilled out."
"You can do so after you've had a secret revealed," Scarlett snapped.
"Hey! Host talking here!" Chris barked. "I decide when the challenge is over."
"Whatever," Scott scoffed, having already removed his harness. "I'm out of here."
"Not until we win," Sierra held the dirt farmer back from leaving. "I am not going to have us lose."
Just then, Fang jumped out of the water and took a large bite out of the Maggots' stand, forcing them to yelp.
"Now would be a good time to leave," Sammy remarked and tried to get herself out of her straps.
The shot cut back to the Maggots as Anne Maria and Scarlett began to argue with Dave and Molly and DJ, Katie, and Trent watched the debacle going on.
Eventually, the shot cut back to Chris as he finally shouted "Alright! SHUT IT!" The off-screen arguments promptly ceased. "Thanks to that pathetic digression," he said in annoyance, glancing at his watch, "now we don't have enough time to finish this challenge! Happy?"
The Rats voiced their agreement. Likewise, all the Maggots agreed happily.
"Well you won't be happy for long," Chris told them and the camera with a smile. "Come back after the break for an all-new challenge from which there is no escape. And in the meantime," he added slyly as he took his remote back out and pushed the button, causing both teams to be dunked into the bay with a scream once more.
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(Commercial Break)
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Greetings Reddit,
I’ve resorted to coming here for advice as I am unsure where to go with my career and have some time/stability on my hands to figure things out. I’m from the Northeast US, close to Boston, and I plan on moving into Boston soon. I just graduated in May (Bachelor of Science in Biological Sciences) with summa cum laude and was originally on the path going to Physician Assistant School. I have work experience of being an EMT on my college campus for about 2.5 years, being an EKG technician at a local hospital for almost a year now, and being an Undergraduate Teaching Assistant (UTA) for Anatomy/Physiology labs. I also shadowed a surgical oncologist for about a month and observed operations and private practice.
Recently, while working in the hospital (and on the ambulance) I’ve unfortunately witnessed a handful of traumatic accidents and situations. To the point where I have nightmares. In addition, some serious health issues have been occurring in my close family members and naturally everybody wants to ask me what’s wrong and to diagnose them. Bottom line, medicine has become a source of great stress and anxiety and I simply can’t see myself doing this as a career for the rest of my life. I figured that if the only motivating reason to stay in medicine is for the money, then I should not pursue it.
I have been looking into several career paths based on my degree and experience. One path involves going into an MPH (Masters of Public Health) program, working on a more administrative side of medicine, or even going into global health or epidemiology. Another path involves going into lab research or microbiology, I have found the field of environmental microbiology pretty interesting. I have yet to do deeper research on these career paths, but I was hoping someone on here with more extensive experience could provide some insight.
As for my general interests, I have a lot. I’m glad I majored in something broad like Biology, because I really enjoyed so many aspects of my courses, from plant physiology to human anatomy to even a beekeeping class I took. I also really enjoy traveling, seeing new cultures, hiking, and being outside (just to throw that in idk). My Meyers-Briggs personality type is INFJ too.
If there’s anyone on here with experience in the whole “backing out of medicine” deal, or really anyone out there with some advice on the next steps. I would greatly appreciate it!

Please give me an ounce of hope that there's anything in the world worth living for, I'm 22 and let my mom abuse me for so long, I didn't even know what I didnt know, I can't drive or do anyfjing right besides sweep and clean dishes, or laundry sometimes, sometimes I can cook a meal right (my partner informed me I can't even use a measuring cup right though and has to follow me in the kitchen removing or adding powdeliquids) I don't know how taxes work or jobs work or relationships work or sex or love or anything I'm just surviving drifting through the days trying not to overdose all day by accident because it's really easy on what I'm on because of HER!!!! is there anything to life that isn't cleaning, chores or cooking?? Like fr?? Y'all weren't joking?? TV wasn't ALL lies?? you don't wake up and follow the morning routine exactly to the letter or risk your mom stopping paying for the medical insurance and care keeping you alive? You don't scrub dishes until your fingers crack and bleed because you hear your mom screaming and feel her punching your chest since it wasn't God's way and he wouldn't love you or her anymore because I was a dirty feral unclean sinner who ruined his Godliness and Love with my sins and impurity by doing it WRONG!!!??? your family doesn't like. Defend your cousin who r*ped you instead of you and say you're a dramatic fool who got drunk on purpose and tempted him into sinning? What??????? :'/ I didn't know it could be different, I didn't know I didn't HAVE to enjoy being a little feral survivalist Latino trying to save and sort out confusing mess of my adoptive white family using me as literal slave labor because of my skin color? I've been called a piece of meat and told that the only thing I'm good for is my childbearing hips since I was 3yrs old, I don't KNOW how to be anything else!! Nobody fucking told me!!!! I tried telling everybody mommy was INSANE and HURT ME but they all just said I need to love mommy more, she buys you nice things and food and provides a bed and a roof for you to sleep under and you need to be grateful since you're in debt to her for saving your life since your birth mom wanted you to die, if you loved her more you wouldn't be this way you'd be clean and happy. So is there really anything else in the world but abuse and disgusting, horrible people making me do disgusting, horrible things I don't want to do or can I call it quits? Can I be DONE NOW or is there anything I should stick around for before i do that? I just want to make sure I do at least one cool thing before I die since literally since I was 15 I've been trapped in my house dying inside this hellhole trying to escape but failing. No vacations or anything and we're so poor me and my fiance can't afford our dog anymore and might have to re-home her. It's all too weird and if there's nothing I should care about anymore I just don't want to be alive anymore, after my therapist explained how abusive and delusional my mom and family are. I don't want to live on the same earth as them!!

I currently work as a hospital chaplain 5 days a week plus taking an “on call” night one day a week, which can sometimes be silent and sometimes I’m out the whole night..and then anywhere in between.
I’ve been doing this job for about four months and recently, someone’s 32hr a week full time position opened up. I don’t want to make less money, really, but I also think I would enjoy my life more and have time for other hobbies and exercise that I love. A big one is surfing and playing music.
My mama get is extremely nice and understanding and I think I could bring this up to him to talk about changing my contract. What does this sun think? Is it a bad move to go down to 32hrs a week?
Edit: some big points I forgot to mention is that hospital chaplaincy is definitely very demanding and stressful. I can generally make it work, and have a lot of inner and litter support/resources. There are always some pretty tough days just because I am intimately engaging with some of the worst human suffering. So, it’s not just that I want to work less and surf more (though it is true) but to have more time for well-being, more good energy for wife and family, etc.

I hate having to air out my dirty laundry, but I have nowhere else to turn and ask for suggestions.
I stupidly, snapped and quit my job, I've been filling out applications, but I'm not getting hired.
My rent is due in a few days, and I have none of it. No place will give me a loan because I have no credit score and no job. My electric bill is due in a week, and I'm just so screwed.
All I need is time, and it's definitely not on my side. Where can I get assistance?

I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.

Please give me an ounce of hope that there's anything in the world worth living for, I'm 22 and let my mom abuse me for so long, I didn't even know what I didnt know, I can't drive or do anyfjing right besides sweep and clean dishes, or laundry sometimes, sometimes I can cook a meal right (my partner informed me I can't even use a measuring cup right though and has to follow me in the kitchen removing or adding powdeliquids) I don't know how taxes work or jobs work or relationships work or sex or love or anything I'm just surviving drifting through the days trying not to overdose all day by accident because it's really easy on what I'm on because of HER!!!! is there anything to life that isn't cleaning, chores or cooking?? Like fr?? Y'all weren't joking?? TV wasn't ALL lies?? you don't wake up and follow the morning routine exactly to the letter or risk your mom stopping paying for the medical insurance and care keeping you alive? You don't scrub dishes until your fingers crack and bleed because you hear your mom screaming and feel her punching your chest since it wasn't God's way and he wouldn't love you or her anymore because I was a dirty feral unclean sinner who ruined his Godliness and Love with my sins and impurity by doing it WRONG!!!??? your family doesn't like. Defend your cousin who r*ped you instead of you and say you're a dramatic fool who got drunk on purpose and tempted him into sinning? What??????? :'/ I didn't know it could be different, I didn't know I didn't HAVE to enjoy being a little feral survivalist Latino trying to save and sort out confusing mess of my adoptive white family using me as literal slave labor because of my skin color? I've been called a piece of meat and told that the only thing I'm good for is my childbearing hips since I was 3yrs old, I don't KNOW how to be anything else!! Nobody fucking told me!!!! I tried telling everybody mommy was INSANE and HURT ME but they all just said I need to love mommy more, she buys you nice things and food and provides a bed and a roof for you to sleep under and you need to be grateful since you're in debt to her for saving your life since your birth mom wanted you to die, if you loved her more you wouldn't be this way you'd be clean and happy. So is there really anything else in the world but abuse and disgusting, horrible people making me do disgusting, horrible things I don't want to do or can I call it quits? Can I be DONE NOW or is there anything I should stick around for before i do that? I just want to make sure I do at least one cool thing before I die since literally since I was 15 I've been trapped in my house dying inside this hellhole trying to escape but failing. No vacations or anything and we're so poor me and my fiance can't afford our dog anymore and might have to re-home her. It's all too weird and if there's nothing I should care about anymore I just don't want to be alive anymore, after my therapist explained how abusive and delusional my mom and family are. I don't want to live on the same earth as them!!

Putting this post up to let everyone waiting for general sale of single game tickets, OSU is already gone. Just did my alumni tickets today (one day after my scheduled time) and OSU isn’t even listed for game tickets anymore (there is still some parking and hospitality available for OSU). Also there may be a few premium packages available for OSU, but the alumni lottery is already sold out for basic stadium seats.
For those interested, USC still has some tickets left, especially right next to the scoreboard but lower level sideline are sold out.

One reference was found in the U.S. press to the roundups of Panamanian union leaders after the invasion -- in the 25th and 26th paragraphs of an article in the Boston Globe. See Diego Ribadeneira, "Resentment of U.S. spreads in Panama City," Boston Globe, January 1, 1990, p. 1. The reference:

Marco Gandasegui, director of the Center for Latin American Studies, a research institute [in Panama, stated:] "With thousands of American troops in the streets, you aren't going to see people staging anti-American demonstrations." But in what was perhaps the first public anti-American display, several dozen Panamanians demonstrated Thursday against U.S. soldiers as they arrested two leaders of the telecommunications union. They were suspected of possessing arms but none were found. They were arrested anyway, because, according to U.S. diplomats, they were on a list of several hundred people whom the Endara government seeks to detain.
As for why the people on the list -- mostly political activists and labor leaders -- were wanted, a senior official in the U.S. Embassy said, "We weren't given any details, just that the Endara government wanted us to get them. They're bad guys of some sort, I guess."

For reports about the Panama invasion and its aftermath outside of the mainstream U.S. press, see for example, Ramsey Clark [former U.S. Attorney General], The Fire This Time: U.S. War Crimes in the Gulf, New York: Thunder's Mouth, 1992. An excerpt (pp. 126-127):

I flew to Panama on the first day commercial flights were permitted to operate after the U.S. invasion. . . . Surveying devastated neighborhoods; finding a 120 x 18-foot mass grave; talking with Red Cross, hospital, and morgue workers, and religious, human rights, labor, student, and other leaders, I readily counted hundreds of civilians dead. The press, however, initially asked no questions about civilian casualties. When eventually prodded in early January, General Stiner repeatedly stated that 83 civilians were killed, and the media faithfully reported that number. A press conference I held before leaving Panama, like a number held thereafter by a private commission formed to investigate and report on Panama, was virtually ignored by the mass media. Estimates of casualties from that commission and many other religious, human rights, and health groups ranged from 1,000 to 7,000 dead. By 1992 a consensus was emerging around 4,000 Panamanians killed. Yet the media used only the final Pentagon figure of 345 Panamanian deaths when it explained why angry crowds disrupted President Bush's visit to Panama in June 1992.

Linda Hossie, "Skepticism growing in Panama over official invasion casualty toll," Globe & Mail (Toronto), January 8, 1990, p. A9. An excerpt:

Sources in Panama City tell stories of hundreds of Panamanian soldiers gunned down from U.S. helicopters after fleeing their headquarters in Old Panama or while trapped in a dead-end street near Fort Amador. Others claim that a large number of bodies were burned on a city beach and that as many as 600 people are buried in mass graves. . . . Virtually all the Panamanians interviewed agreed that the vast majority of the dead are civilians.

Alexander Cockburn, "Beneath a peak in Darien: the conquest of Panama," Nation, January 29, 1990, p. 114. An excerpt:

Roberto Arosemena, a professor of sociology well known in Panama for his fifteen-year nonviolent resistance to military dictatorship [said] . . . U.S. troops . . . had conducted rigorous searches, usually destroying property and acting without regard for children and old people. Now, he said, there is an extreme display of U.S. forces throughout the city. They patrol neighborhoods in eight-to-fifteen-person units, carrying combat rifles. When Panamanians accompany them, it is always in a ratio of the Panamanian to two G.I.s, and the Panamanians never carry anything heavier than a pistol.
According to Arosemena, about 1,200 people are currently detained in camps in the U.S. military compound. He spoke to one man who had been held, a civilian former government worker, who told him that detainees were bound hand and foot, eyes blindfolded and mouths bandaged. They were loaded into trucks and when they reached the installation they were thrown out, some of them suffering injuries. Then they were interrogated by U.S. military personnel. John Weeks and Phil Gunson, Panama: Made in the U.S.A., London: Latin America Bureau, 1991, especially chs. 1 and 5.

On the Endara government's statement about the U.S. "military occupation," see for example, "News in Brief: Panama; Two Scathing Reports," Central America Report (Guatemala City, Guatemala: Inforpress Centroamericana), Vol. XXI, No. 4, February 4, 1994, p. 8. An excerpt:

In surprisingly strong terms for a government office, CONADEHUPA [the Panamanian governmental National Human Rights Commission] argues that the rights to self-determination and sovereignty of the Panamanian people continue to be violated by the "state of occupation by a foreign army." Among violations committed by the U.S. army, CONADEHUPA lists the campaign Strong Roads 93, air force flights in different provinces, the participation of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (D.E.A.) in search and seizure operations, a D.E.A. agent's assault on a Panamanian journalist and incidents of attacks on Panamanian citizens by U.S. military personnel.

On the international organizations' actions against the U.S. invasion and Panama's occupation, see for example, "Panama ousted from the Group of Eight," Central America Report (Guatemala City, Guatemala: Inforpress Centroamericana), Vol. XVII, No. 13, April 6, 1990, p. 99. An excerpt:

President Guillermo Endara's government receives one of its worst diplomatic setbacks since taking office, as the Group of Eight [what are considered the major Latin American democracies] formally ousts Panama from the organization, claiming the Endara government is illegal and demanding new elections. . . . At the sixth meeting of the Group of Eight on March 30, foreign ministers from seven countries (Panama was suspended in 1988) issued their most forceful dictum against Panama to date. Basically they agreed on three points: Panama's permanent separation from the G-8, a call for immediate presidential elections and the limiting of activities by U.S. troops. . . . The final resolution noted that "the process of democratic legitimation in Panama requires popular consideration without foreign interference, that guarantees the full right of the people to freely choose their governments. . . ." The G-8 suggests that the U.S. military is operating outside of its mandate, affecting Panama's sovereignty and independence as well as the legality of the Endara government.

So first of all, I just want to thank Sanderson, I have no idea if he'll see it(probbly not), but nonetheless, I still want to thank him for creating such amazing books. It's a few days early, but I started reading Way of Kings exactly one year ago, in June 2022, when my medical condition gradually worsened and I found myself with cancer despite my young age(21). I spent the majority of this year in hospitals, doing tests, CTs, MRIs, chemotheraphy and a surgery, these books kept me sane, they helped me relax at times, they helped passed the nights were I couldn't sleep due to various medical reasons and such, they helped me pass the time, though it seemed to stand still, when I felt my life were "stuck" due to my condition while my friends started working, etc. So anyway, my condition is a lot better now and continuing to improve, so I just to say "thanks" to Sanderaon and this amazing community.
So after that, I'll share my highlights from Rhythm of War. Keep in mind that's just me rambling.
First of all, I love how this book focused on Navani, how she grew, how she became a better person, a true scholer, a woman who made great discoveries like the anti-Voidlight and anti-Stormlight(though I now wonder if the new Odium will try to create anti-Lifelight?), the pure tones of Roshar, etc, and how she sought to understand the Singers, their culture., and her relationship with the Sibiling(how is the Sibiling gonna react in future books to Navani's relationship with Dalinar, the Stormfather's Bondsmith?🤣🤣🤣 that would be funny to see.)
Also, at first I thought Raboniel to be some kind of a manipulative bitch(which she IS), but I've grown to like her, her intention, her goals, and her relationship with Navani, she's an amazingly-written character.
I loved Shallan's and Adolin journey in Shadesmar, though the honorspren WERE assholes throughout much of it, I saw how Adolin started to grow, to become the man he wants to be, not Dalinar's shadow, and of course Maya !!!! Holy shit Maya! Can't believe she spoke and shut them all up!
I loved seeing how Shallan started to confront herself again, finally picking sides - cutting ties of the Ghostbloods and this "Master Thakiddar"-something, finally picking sides. I can't believe she really gave Mraize Wit's message! I laughed so hard at that. I'll miss Veil but she'd done her part, and I hope Shallan can help Testament heal.
I loved seeing Dalinar experimenting with his powers, his conversation with Ishar was..... weird. I think he took most of the burnt(besides poor Taln) and truly went nuts. It's scary how OP is Bondsmithing when it's "unchained", terrifying to think what Dalinar would be able to do is he reached his 5th Ideal.
Jasnah and Wit. Oh I loved to see Jasnah's character getting more focus, being developed, confronting her insecurities, trying to truly lead her people, and of course it's always amazing seeing Wit. I LOVED their relationship, how Jaanah doesn't understand emotion, I wanna see more of THAT.
FUCK MOASH!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO TEFT DIRTY LIKE THAT?!?! HE WAS FINALLY FORGIVEN, HE FINALLY BECAME THE MAN HE WANTED TO ME!!!!! WHY SANDERSON WHY?!?!
Wow Kaladin's arc in this book was amazing, how he dealt with his depression, trying to fix his relationship with his family, eventually reconciling with his father, how he overcame his weakness, trying to heal himself over and over only to fall deeper and climb back up with Tien's help. just AMAZING. I could kinda guess what was the theme of 4th Ideal from the start of the book but it was still SO GOOD!!!!!! So the 4th Ideal gives a Radiant his Plate which is made from certain types of spren(like windspren for Windrunners), eh? I also have a theory for what the 5th Windrunner Ideal would be, it's based on the Skybreakers' 5th Ideal - "I'm the Law", I thought it would be "I will lead" or something along these theme as it is consistent with Jerizen and the Windrunners theme of honor, protection and leading, a Windrunner of the 5th Ideal would decide what is right, what is moral.
And finally Wit's meeting with the new Odium(T-Odium?), anyway weird to see Wit being ouplayed. Also I saw some weird things in the books, terms like "Breaths", the white sand, Zhael's weird powers, Nightblood, and many more, guess I'll learn more as I keep reading the cosmere. I think some of it is related to other types of Investure of other Shards.
I'm still a bit confused on Dalinar's and Odium deal, could some explain it to me just in case?
Now I think I'll start reading Warbreaker and then Mistborn era 1, then maybe the two novellas as Stormlight was my first Sanderson.

FMK-3 submachine gun Submachine gun
The FMK-3 is a selective fire blowback-operated submachine gun of Argentine origin designed by Fabricaciones Militares in 1974. Around 30,000 were produced for the Argentine military by 1991.
Quick Facts Type, Place of origin ... FMK-3
Type Submachine gun Place of origin Argentina Service history In service 1974–present Used by Argentina Wars Argentine Dirty War Croatian War of Independence Falklands War Guatemalan Civil War Salvadoran Civil War Production history Manufacturer Fabricaciones Militares Produced 1974-1993 No. built 85,000 Variants See Variants Specifications Mass 3.4 kg (7.5 lb) empty Length 523 mm (20.6 in), stock folded 693 mm (27.3 in), stock extended Barrel length 290 mm (11.4 in) Cartridge 9×19mm Parabellum Action Blowback, open bolt Rate of fire 650 rounds/min Effective firing range 100 m Feed system 25, 32, and 40-round detachable box magazine Sights Flip up iron sights Close Development In the 1950s, the FMAP DM (Fábrica Militar de Armas Portables Domingo Matheu), belonging to the Dirección General de Fabricaciones Militares, acquired the production rights of a copy of the U.S. M3 A1 submachine gun, more commonly known as the "Grease Gun". This Argentine version was chambered for 9×19mm cartridges, as opposed to the .45 ACP in the original model. The DGFM released two versions called PAM 1 and PAM 2, with and without handle latch.
In the early 1970s, FMAP DM decided to change the design to use a telescoping bolt which allows a shorter weapon, and a magazine in the pistol grip. This concept was designed by Jaroslav Holecek in mid-1946 and greatly reduced the size of the weapon. He popularized the CZ-23/25 and it was later also adopted by the Israeli UZI, the Ingram MAC-10 and the Star Z-84. Thus was born the PA-3 DM, later known as the FMK-3.
At first glance, the FMK-3 may be associated with the UZI. This Argentine sub-machine gun fires the 9×19mm Parabellum cartridge and hosts its magazine in the pistol grip, along with a fire selector and grip safety on the rear of the grip which must be squeezed in order to fire the weapon. Above the hand grip, is the upper receiver which houses the barrel, bolt and recoil spring.
In the first series, the FMK was presented with three versions of stocks: one-piece plastic fixed, fixed to wood, and retractable wire. On the left side of the upper receiver is located the charging handle. This has a sliding dust cover that prevents the entry of foreign materials in the interior of the weapon. On the same side but at the rear is the sling holder. In early versions, the front one is similar to the Uzi, although it went on to be captive and rotating in the shield that holds the barrel to the receiver. On the receiver aiming devices are: a hooded front post sight and a rear "L" shaped flip sight adjustable for windage and with 50 and 100 meters sight positions. It is all protected by side ears. The ejection window is small sized and is located to the right of the aforementioned drawer or upper receiver.
Overview The FMK-3 is chambered in 9×19mm Parabellum, with a rate of fire of 650 rounds per minute. 20-, 32-, and 40-round magazines are available for the FMK-3 as well as the adaption of a silencer and grenade-firing capability.
Unlike other similar submachine guns, the safety, the disconnect and auto sear the FMK-3 are located behind the handle. In this way, ahead of the trigger is only the selector mechanism of shot and the manual safety. The safety selector has a wing-type lever that is activated from the left and which presents three positions: upper intermediate, "S" (safe), "R" (repeat), and "A" (automatic fire).
As an additional security measure, the FMK-3 has a safety grip that acts in the following way: If the weapon is not correctly grasped, the safety locks the bolt. Thus, even if the gun is ready to fire, if not pressed, the bolt is blocked from closing and firing the weapon. In addition, as mentioned above, with the bolt at rest, empty chamber and the full magazine the grip safety prevents accidental discharge of the weapon drag. Therefore, it is a very safe weapon to carry in any condition.
Variants FMK-3 Main variant and the most produced variant. The FMK-3 has a retractable wire stock. Fixed stocks have been recently made that can be installed by two prongs. FMK-3s have also been adapted with picatinny rails.
FMK-4 FMK-3 with fixed stock. The fixed stock appears to be made from polymer, and similar to that found on the H&K G3.
FMK-5 The FMK-3 is also produced for the civilian market, in semi-automatic-only version as the FMK-5.
Users Argentina: Used by Law enforcement in Argentina and Argentine Army. Bolivia: Used by Bolivian Army. Croatia Guatemala: Used by the military. El Salvador: more than 600 FMK-3s received during the 1980s, used during the Salvadoran Civil War and later put into storage. Used in the 2010s by private security guards. Uruguay: Used by Uruguayan Armed Forces and National Police of Uruguay.
Next copypasta: Uzi Vz. 23 SIG SG 540 TZ-45 Madsen M-50

TL;DR at the bottom.
As a background, I am the eldest of three children. I'm at my mid 30s, and younger bro is 29 today.
When he was 22 and until recently, he didn't have much luck, despite help, landing employment anywhere. I tried my best to land him a job in my office and our dad's, still no result. I told him his luck might not be here in the Philippines; it might be elsewhere. True enough, my aunt's S.O. assisted my brother through a maritime agency and not long after a few weeks of training, he got the position of Chief Cook as a seafarer, bound to be dispatched on September.
Before then, he talked with me, and the youngest of us, a whole bunch about his plans-house, car, house help, etc., for the duration of his contract, all for the benefit of our mother. It would seem that he found himself already, and I was glad. He requested us to watch over her, as she lived for 29 years with my brother mightily by her side. Since he was the one who's unemployed at the time among the three of us siblings, we expected him to be there when mom got hospitalized (twice), cooked for her (and the family), technically assisting her in all forms and ways. If you're asking where I was during those times, I am married with a kid, living separately, and a working student. I am thinking of a different way to make my mom proud, so to speak. And that's a story for another topic. But my brother, he's always beside our mother. He lived 29 years of his life with her. You catch the drift.
As I was saying, he was due to be dispatched on September, then moved on the 8th of June, then again on the 3rd (which was his birthday). Some two days before, he got a call telling him he's to be dispatched the very next day. That was the 31st of May. My mom and I accompanied him to the airport.
Mom is ecstatic and at the same time, really worried sick and über sad with my brother leaving. His contract is for 10 months, general cargo, Southeast Asia.
During and after his flight, and until he got on the ship, he was in constant communication with us. Last he said is that the ship is already bound to sail to Taipei for three and a half days, no signal in the high seas, and roaming data is limited. So since the night before yesterday, there was no message.
So during those times (after we took brother to the airport, until today), mom is crying non-stop about my brother's lack of presence. I also took a hit, since I relied on my brother too much. But my mother, para syang namatayan sa iyak ba. She was worried na baka lumubog ang barko, stuff like that.
I told my mom that this is for my brother's good, that he'll be okay (as with all seafarers I encounter in my job), and that everything is for her. This is the first time she's without bro and for long. Alam naman daw nya, hayaan lang daw namin sya umiyak. My son is also crying way too much since my brother left for the seas. But I also wanna cry na din, I miss my brother, too. Napilay din naman ako. But I want to be strong for my mom and my son.
Ayun lang. Di ko na kase alam gagawin ko kay mama. Ang hirap ng wala si utol, pero masaya ako para sa kanya.
Saludo ako sa lakas ng loob ng mga OFW, whether you're sea-based or land-based. Ang lalakas ng loob nyo. Kayo talaga ang mga bagong bayani.
TL;DR: Bro got employment as a seafarer after being unemployed for 29 years of his life and was dispatched unexpectedly immediately. Mom is now crying like she just actually lost a kid. Not that I'm complaining, but it makes me wanna cry and show weakness na din even after my brother told me and bunso to look after her for the duration of his contract*.*

New to the area & have been told numerous times that Reading hospital is no good. Are there any recommendations/opinions you may have on either that or other hospitals in the area? TIA!

Hi, all. Long time reader, and here I come with a problem with my flat mate. This is the first time in my life with a flatmate (before I was living with my parents or in a dorm, where there were common spaces we take care of but the rules and chores were already established). She's actually the subletter of my actual flatmate: it is a sort of vague situation and not really sure how long is she going to stay. It was just supposed to be a couple of months max but it looks like it is going to be longer.
That means that we didn't get to establish common rules beforehand. She also came on a very short notice, so this period of time has been mostly me trying to adjust. Like lot of things she did bothered me, but I figured it was just the adjusting period and I let it slide. After this time of living together I think that I am adjusted and these problems are still problems to address now.
The first she did when she came was to clean the toilet because she said it was disgusting. When she moved I was about to leave for a couple of weeks (on the very same day and she knew), so she could just wait til I left to do it instead of going out of her way to let me know? But after this I don't really feel like she's all that clean. She's clean with very specific stuff. She will change her own towels like every 3 or 4 days, but don't change the kitchen cloths at all. It's mosly me the one that throws out the trash (I do it on my way out to uni because I'm already going out anyways), but the trash is full again by when I come back (but I wouldn't like to try to leave it a couple of days more to see what she does about it). She once told me that she had just clean the bathroom, but that didn't include the shower or the mirror.
For some reason every time there has been to buy supplies it always me (to be fair there hadn't been that many times so just bad luck). But we run out of toilet paper this week, I wasn't really here so I didn't notice until today. She's always at the apartment, didn't she notice at all? It's true that she just went away for the weekend, but it feels like a shitty move to know that there is no more toilet paper and not get more because you are leaving.
Last week she started using the washing machine as a laundry basket for towels (she does use a lot of them). I only noticed that she had left a couple of them inside for some days so when I asked about it (did she forget about them or what) she told me that if I needed to use the washing machine I could just take them out. I did not communicate it in the best way and she got annoyed, saying that I was just looking out for things to be mad about and that's not going to end up good for neither of us.
I am perfectly aware that she's pushing boundaries, but I guess I am stuck with her for the time being and I'd like this situation to be as smooth as possible, but without her just doing what she sees fit and me just shouting up about it. Once she's back I'd have a talk with her to agree on some ground rules. First I was thinking of setting up a clear list of chores and we writing down when we do what, and when we buy what, to clarify exactly how much each of us is doing around. I think that sounds better that straight-up telling her that she's not buying anything for the flat.
Then there is the thing with utilities. She definitely uses more water than I do for the dishwasher and the washing machine. I got to live alone in the flat for some time before and it was taking me around 2-3 days to fill up the dishwasher, while she fills it up every day only with her stuff. We have been using different bottles of detergent and she has used twice as much as me (either she uses more detergent in general or she washes more clothes). Not exactly sure how is that going to impact the utility bill because it is a predicted flat price that gets recalculated and still hasn't updated since she moved in. I don't think it makes sense to discuss other splittings of the utility bill, so I just wanted her to be mindful that I am paying more than I should and I agree to that (would that make sense to ask that when it's time for a more thorough cleaning of the flat she takes care of the dishwasher and the washing machine?)

Hosted by the NYU School of Professional Studies' Jonathan M. Tisch Center of Hospitality, the conference featured general sessions and networking events that provided data, analysis, perspectives, insights, and opportunities.
Visit Now: https://foxnangel.com/events/international-hospitality-industry.html

Here is the most important information, and related articles, from this article.
Published on 2023-06-02 at 23:44, this article is written by howard altman and published by yahoo news. (14 minutes)
Save 14 minutes of reading with this summary:

The Russian-occupied Azov Sea port city of Berdyansk in Zaporizhzhia Oblast was struck by a Ukrainian missile on Friday, an occupation official said. "Apparently, these were Storm Shadow missiles but we are waiting for more detailed information from our Defense Ministry,” occupation official Vladimir Rogov said in a live broadcast on Komsomolskaya Pravda radio, according to the official Russian TASS news agency. “The militants of the Armed Forces of Ukraine struck at peaceful Berdyansk at about 12.00,” Rogov said Friday on his Telegram channel. Throughout the war, Ukraine has shown the ability to strike deep into Russia and Russian-held territory with aerial drones and uncrewed surface vessel drones as well as sabotage raids. But a weapon like the Storm Shadow provides far more punch than drones and is far easier and less dangerous for Ukraine to launch than a sabotage raid or cross-border incursion, for which its role is unclear anyway at the moment. In addition to seizing about a dozen ships from Ukraine’s Navy at the time, it is also an important logistics and supply hub, providing materiel for Russian troops in the region. Speaking in Finland, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken said the U.S. and allies will help Ukraine build a "military of the future" with "modern combat aircraft." Ukraine’s membership in NATO "will be a matter for Allies and Ukraine – not Russia – to decide," Blinken said. "A just and lasting peace requires Ukraine’s full participation and assent – nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine." "If and when Russia is ready to work for true peace, the United States will respond in concert with Ukraine and other allies and partners around the world," said Blinken. In an exclusive, Reuters, citing "two people familiar with the matter" reported that "the U.S. is seeking to secure supplies of TNT from Japan for 155mm artillery shells, as Washington rushes weapons and ammunition to Ukraine for a counteroffensive against Russian forces." "The head of the mobilization department of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation Evgeny Burdinsky revealed the details of the process of mobilization in Russia and the formation of new units," The Insider reported. Dmitry Medvedev, deputy chairman of the Security Council of Russia and the nation's former president, said the "regime that has developed in Ukraine is subject to extermination." The plot involved flying cigarette-laden drones from Ukraine’s Transcarpathia region into Hungary, according to the ministry’s Telegram channel. Ukraine's SBU national security service recently arrested four "bloggers" in Kyiv for taking photos and videos of air defense systems during a May 16 raid on Ukraine's capitol.

Keep reading with 3 related articles: Yahoo News (2023-06-02 at 23:44) Ukraine Situation Report: Long-Range Strike Hits Russian-Held Port City On Sea Of Azov The Jerusalem Post (2023-05-15 at 09:46) Britain to send long-range attack drones to Ukraine EUROMAIDAN PRESS (2023-05-15 at 10:26) Russian missile strike on Avdiivka hospital kills at least four civilians – city authorities
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I am going to share another article here, because truly understanding this concept has been a huge life saver and help for me in everything that I do, and especially in helping my kids when their emotions arise:
Growing up in a narcissistic family environment can make it challenging for survivors to disconnect from a constant state of defense and reactivity. Learning to understand and control one’s emotions may feel like a whole new mountain to climb.
Your upbringing may have made it difficult for you to recognize and express your feelings, as well as to calm yourself down when you’re feeling upset. The inability to process your emotions can also leave you feeling confused, frustrated, and like you lack control over your actions.
It’s possible that you are still operating under survival mode.
However, there is a way to understand and make sense of your feelings. By learning about how your emotions are processed, how triggers work, and how feelings work, you can regain control over your reactions and regain a sense of balance.

Emotions

Emotions are a natural and normal part of being human. They provide valuable information about what is good, what is bad and what is dangerous. They are designed to alert us to immediate dangers or rewards and are a primitive instinct that exists within us for the purpose of our survival. Emotions manifest physically, and can be detected or measured. For example, when you experience an emotion, you may get a high heartbeat, you may sweat, your blood pressure will rise, and you may shake.
Feeling fear when encountering a pack of wolves while taking a walk alone in the forest is useful. In this example, fear alerts us to an immediate danger. Fear makes sense and is doing what it’s supposed to do.
Feeling disgust when being forced to interact with a person who is the source of your pain and trauma also makes sense. Disgust is essentially telling you: Toxic person alert. Do not go near. Your body is giving you a warning.

Dr. Paul Ekman’s Model of Universal Emotions

There are six basic emotions that are universally recognized across cultures: anger, fear, joy, contempt, disgust, and sadness.

The 6 Universal Emotions

Anger

This emotion is characterized by feelings of frustration, irritability, and aggression. It may be triggered by a perceived threat, injustice, or when you are blocked from doing something. The associated behavior may include assertiveness, confrontation, and the desire to take action.

Fear

This emotion is characterized by feelings of anxiety, nervousness, and apprehension. It may be triggered by a perceived danger or threat, and the associated behavior may include fleeing, hiding, or freezing.

Joy

This emotion is characterized by feelings of happiness, contentment, and pleasure. It may be triggered by positive experiences or events, and the associated behavior may include smiling, laughing, and expressing excitement.

Contempt

This emotion is characterized by disdain, superiority, and disgust. It may be triggered by behaviors or actions that are perceived as beneath one’s own standards, and the associated behavior may include eye-rolling, sneering, and a dismissive attitude.

Disgust

This emotion is characterized by feelings of revulsion, distaste, and abhorrence. It may be triggered by something that is perceived as dirty, vile, or dangerous, and the associated behavior may include wrinkling the nose, gagging, and avoiding contact.

Sadness

This emotion is characterized by feelings of sorrow, disappointment, and despair. It may be triggered by loss, rejection, or disappointment, and the associated behavior may include crying, withdrawing, and seeking comfort.

We Can’t Not Feel Emotions. That Is Not Possible. We Must Learn to Work with Them.

Emotions can be powerful and can drive us to act impulsively. Because of this, they can also hinder our ability to focus on long-term solutions that require careful processing and consideration of various sources of information. For example, you may feel angry at a boss for giving you extra work on a Friday afternoon, but if you act on that emotion and express your anger in the heat of the moment, it could lead to negative consequences such as getting fired for disrespecting an authority figure. In this case, it may be better to let the emotion pass and instead work on a long-term plan, such as finding a better job or organizing a meeting to address the issues.
Furthermore, it is possible that after gathering all the facts, you may have found out that the boss’s wife was in the hospital, and out of all the employees, the big boss trusted you the most to get the job done. While your anger zoomed in on your inability to leave work at a decent time on Friday night, it did not have all the information needed to see the situation as a whole. Acting on your anger would not only have cost you your job, but also would have damaged your professional reputation.
In the heat of the moment, our emotions may not allow us to see that there are other ways of solving problems or that there are other factors unknown to us at play. It is important for us to learn to control our impulses and ask questions first in order to gain full clarity of a situation. We are always responsible for our actions, and our actions always have consequences as they affect the world around us. Clear communication is crucial, and it is always our responsibility to try and understand what it is that we are dealing with before choosing how we will react to it.
Think of emotions as if they were like little storms inside our head that can make it hard to think straight.
You may find yourself in many situations where you must allow for these little storm to pass before taking an action, so that you may see the bigger picture under a clear blue sky.
Our emotions can also misinterpret a situation, such as feeling fear when watching a horror movie or being happy around someone who is not good for us. We can feel fear even though we are physically safe in a movie theater. We can feel joy when we receive a text from a person who has ghosted us for a week. (This article is long, continue reading here if you are interested: https://artflorentyna.com/how-do-i-control-my-emotions-after-surviving-a-narcissistic-family-system/

My mother struggles with endometriosis, she always had terrible cramps. My cramps have been absolute hell since I was I first got it at age 11. I have not been diagnosed with anything because I have never been to a gynecologist in my life. (Can't afford one right now) I've been sent to the hospital at least three or four times and had to get pain relief shots countless times.
I asked my general practitioner if there are any medicine I can take to ease the pain. He phoned a gynecologist to discuss this and he mentioned my autism almost immediately. After a short phone call. He told me that menstruating people with autism tend to gain a lot of weight on the pill. He said I would double in size.
Is this a thing other people are aware of? Is it a thing at all? Are there research papers on this? Is it just the pill or other medication too? Has anyone else had this experience?

Long Questions Answer Hotel Management Exam Paper.

1. Explain the step-by-step procedure of cleaning a departure room.

The departure room cleaning procedure is a critical part of maintaining high cleanliness standards in a hotel. The following is a step-by-step procedure for cleaning a departure room:

1. Start by collecting all the necessary cleaning supplies, including cleaning agents, gloves, trash bags, and cleaning equipment like a vacuum cleaner, broom, and dustpan.
   
   1. Enter the room and open the windows to allow for ventilation.
2. Strip the beds of all linens, including the bed sheets, pillowcases, and duvet covers. Fold and place them in a laundry bag.
   
3. Remove all towels and place them in the laundry bag.
   
4. Check the bathroom and remove any used toiletries, towels, and bathrobes.
   
5. Empty all trash bins and dispose of any waste in a trash bag.
   
6. Dust and wipe all surfaces in the room, including the furniture, mirrors, and window sills.
   
7. Use a vacuum cleaner to clean the floors, corners, and baseboards. If there are any stains, use a spot-cleaning agent to remove them.
   
8. Clean the bathroom by starting with the toilet. Use a toilet cleaner to clean the bowl, seat, and exterior. Wipe down the sink, counter, and showetub with an all-purpose cleaner. Use a glass cleaner to clean the mirror and shower door.
   
9. Mop the bathroom floor with a disinfectant cleaner and let it dry.
   
10. Check all light fixtures and lamps to ensure they are functioning properly.
    
11. Finally, do a final inspection of the room to ensure that it is thoroughly cleaned and ready for the next guest.
    

2. Show the differences between woven and non-woven carpets.

Woven and non-woven carpets are two types of carpets that are commonly used in the hospitality industry. The main differences between these two types of carpets are.
Woven carpets
Woven carpets are a type of carpet that is made by interlacing yarns in a specific pattern using a loom. The process involves weaving yarns vertically and horizontally to create a tightly woven carpet. The result is a high-quality, durable carpet with intricate designs and patterns. Woven carpets are typically made from natural fibers such as wool or silk, but can also be made from synthetic fibers such as nylon or polyester. They are known for their luxurious appearance and durability, making them a popular choice for high-end hotels, resorts, and other hospitality establishments. However, woven carpets are generally more expensive than other types of carpets due to the labor-intensive manufacturing process and use of high-quality materials.
Non-woven
Non-woven carpets are a type of carpet that is made by bonding fibers together using heat, chemicals, or pressure, instead of weaving them like in woven carpets. The fibers used in non-woven carpets can be natural, synthetic or a blend of both, and are typically made from materials such as polyester, nylon, or polypropylene.
The manufacturing process for non-woven carpets involves pressing and binding the fibers together, which creates a consistent, uniform texture. Non-woven carpets can be made in a variety of colors and patterns, and are often used in commercial settings such as hotels, offices, and retail spaces due to their durability and ease of maintenance

My husband has been sick in bed with pneumonia all week, went to urgent care on Thursday and got antibiotics. I'm on very little sleep, work has been kicking into high gear and I've been juggling my toddler. Oh, and she got sent home from daycare yesterday for throwing up.
Last night my husband collapsed on the way to the bathroom, and I called 911 for him to be taken to the hospital, got a neighbor to stay with my 2.5 year old and followed in the car. I stayed for two hours, and a doctor had not seen him. Went home, relieved my neighbor, and got a few hours of sleep. Kiddo slept through the whole thing. She was up and bouncing around this morning at 5:30, so I said screw it, get in bed with me, and she's been watching Bluey since 6, while eating dry cheerios. My husband has been in the hospital for 7 hours, and still has not seen a doctor. He's conscious and okay, most likely severely dehydrated, but they do have him on an IV.
His dad might drive in from out of state today, and I'll just send him to the hospital. I have tons of laundry to get done, and need to get groceries. We've been surviving on Memorial Day cook out leftovers all week. I'm exhausted, and have no idea when I will get a real break. I might be able to pass her off on neighbors for a couple of hours, but with her being sick, I don't want to expose her to other people. I might need to take Monday off, I am that exhausted. Oh, and today is my birthday.