2022.01.28 22:06 Barbos_17 How to make the best spaghetti squash dinner at home! The right way to cook spaghetti squash. Simple
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2022.01.28 22:06 CryptoniteClub Fungibilité
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2022.01.28 22:06 Studio10eleven Suspect arrested in string of Tacoma arsons - KING5.com
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2022.01.28 22:06 Dortnose Servers down?
2022.01.28 22:06 rhodes20000 I love the Natura of New Zealand
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2022.01.28 22:06 TardyToe Wisdom of the generation
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2022.01.28 22:06 SignificantFinger790 Broke up with my partner of a month and they threatened suicide
I know that this is a fake threat and that they won’t really do it, but I still feel so guilty. They are also doing this all via Instagram live for all of their friends to see. It makes me look like a monster.
We only dated for a month and it just wasn’t working, I wasn’t happy and they did some things that made me uncomfortable. Can someone please just tell me I’m not a bad person?
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2022.01.28 22:06 Ok-Literature-1173 I fucked up (please take the time to read really need advice)
Okay background: I'm 20, I had a sheltered and isolating upbringing, I never did something like runaway before, I ran away from home with my uncle and cousins, everything went well, for the first time ever, I was happy as shit, did things I never did before, socialized, etc, my mom called A LOT and I wanted to be respectful, so I always answered. (this is where I fucked up tbh) some weeks passed, and after my mom spent days begging me to come back, I made the choice to come back home, for a multitude of stupid reasons, I believed i was emotionally manipulated into doing it, i didn't think of all the traumatic things my parents done to me, i was focused on the anxiety i was having from the stuff my family told me would happen if i stayed, (I know it doesn't make sense for me to come back its like I was under a spell or something) and when I made the choice, I forgot how controlling my parents were, I wasn't thinking about why I left in the first place, its like I was brainwashed, they promised to help me get a place, job, etc, and that i could stay with my grandma (which didn't end up happening) (I wasn't thinking at all i feel incredibly stupid), my parents were fear mongering and telling me how if I stayed with my uncle bad things would happen, (which triggered my anxiety and I felt like I was on edge the whole time I was there) (I was also sick with covid at the time and and they claimed I would get worse if I didn't come back home) and that I was being used by my uncle for money, (because I get a disability check) which I later found out not to be true, I had an honest talk with them (my uncle and the rest) after coming back home, they told me they never cared about the money and i could tell they was mad at me for believing this, because they been nothing but good to me, so i'm not too sure why i let my family trick me into believing i was being used... i feel like maybe it's because i'm not use to be treated like a decent human being maybe? and believing i was being used was how i made sense of it? i don't know i'm fucking stupid. once i came back home, i started to fall into a deep depression and regret and shame, and embarrassment, I started remembering things from the past like the time my mom made me eat food she spit up as a punishment, she claimed i was being "disrespectful" I was like 12 or something at the time, another time they whooped me, stripped me naked, turned r&b music on while whooping me, another time, made me stand in corner, while holding a squat, growing up my dad always did things to purposely make me mad, my dad made weird faces, laughed in my face while crying, and got pleasure from it saying things like yes! yes! and the more i would get worked up, the more he mocked me, they would call me weird, slap me in face, check my phone and criticize things i said to people, rip up songs i made, claiming they were too depressing, and made jokes about it, most of these things happened when i was 14, it gotten "better" as years passed by so sometimes i believed i was being dramatic and that i was never actually abused (i self gaslighted myself a lot)(I think this is also how they was able to convince me to come back) I tried to forget that these things ever happened, but when i came back home, it hit me with full force. along with the regret of coming back. now that i'm back, they haven't done anything bad to me, BUT now that these memories resurfaced, I feel this intense hatred, towards them, and I honestly want them out of my life for good, but I cant now, and to make it worse, I reached out to my uncle and cousins begging for a second chance, and how I screwed up, and they said "your parents were sending a lot of disrespectful stuff to our phone and it put us through a lot of stress, and we feel like we picked you up for nothing, so its out of our hands not much we can do to help you now" (which I totally understand I didn't think about the stress i was putting them through) But it hurts knowing that the only people that's capable of helping me, cant help me anymore, and i feel like it's my fault because I was the one who ultimately made the choice to come back and i feel incredibly stupid, I feel crippled with regret so much to the point i barely eat and sleep. because i had one shot to change my life for the better and i fucked it up for myself. and I don't think they sympathize with me because their like "you the one that decided to come back" not your mom, not your dad, YOU and it just makes me feel so fucking stupid. because I really didn't think this through. and suicide feels like the only way out of these thoughts, shame ,etc. LIKE I WAS LITERALLY FREEEEE and I came back home, i know there is probably many people here who wish they had the opportunity I had, I feel like I deserve to die for doing something so stupid. I just can't live with myself after doing this. i don't know what to do now, each day here feels like hell and i get really emotional around them so i distance myself and stay in my room. I feel like no one understands me and what i am going through.
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2022.01.28 22:06 Niel_Ray How animes destroyed my life
2020, 3st year of high school, stupid otaku + social life = Shitshow.I moved to a new school and sat on my desk looking like sasuke uchiha, with a dumb look on my face, never had problems with making friends or get along with girls, had several friends in my old school, so i used to went to discos, parties, clubs, but my stupidity in wanting to be cold and calculating made the students bully me, i saw it as an advantage and made sure that no one could see my face unmasked, left my hair looking different than usual, walked in a curved shape, faked a thinner voice and got drunk before going to school to help ridicule myself, which caused even my teacher to tease me, well, frighteningly, i got to hang out with 5 girls from my class (not at once), have sex with them, record, post it on several whatsapp groups and show to their parents.I also fucked my bully's girlfriend and had my best friend to spank and leave him stretched out on a square's floor, besides burning down my teacher's car who was making fun of me with his students, used to love to pretend to be a idiot though i had extremely high grades and no one could understand why i was so smart, lol my what's was my fucking problem (i also did some other stupid things that ayanokoji would do, but will make this shit longer)
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2022.01.28 22:06 CryptooGuide How And Where To Buy 3x Long Litecoin Token (LTCBULL) - Step By Step Guide
2022.01.28 22:06 Dimension_daddy Look at the nails u gott for my friend’s yatch trip!☀️ it has pieces of nacre shell and brown glitter encapsulated that makes it look like sand 😍😍😍
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2022.01.28 22:06 Studio10eleven Man Arrested in Father's Death in Central California - U.S. News & World Report
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2022.01.28 22:06 GreenLipFish Mother 3
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2022.01.28 22:06 JustKaynen Just moved, no chair 😐
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2022.01.28 22:06 dink_dink Every time I see Max, THIS pops in my head
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2022.01.28 22:06 YouGotJinxxed Code: 3JKKMN...thanks! if you choose mine
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2022.01.28 22:06 Masterbuizel02 My additions to my sealed collection over the last couple months
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2022.01.28 22:06 SweetPhase12 Has this happened to anyone?
So I got my first RGB box today and I was first thinking to trade it but later on I just decided to open it inside so I did. But when I opened it and there was that effect I didn’t get anything. I thought it might be my wifi but when I checked everyone on the server was still walking around and talking. I rejoined back twice to triple check if I got anything in my inventory from it but I didn’t. Has this happened to anyone else? What should i do? I tried contacting adopt me support but I don’t think they’ll be able to reach out to me since there is so many ppl submitted forms :(
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2022.01.28 22:06 SylentNote_1681 A couple of BTAs!
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2022.01.28 22:06 thecozyartist Well, second night in a row Instacart got my food delivery wrong- Hope a lucky family enjoys free groceries night 2!
2022.01.28 22:06 djiuh I was doing an incursion and a buddy got downed and another was KO'd, and suddenly my game crashed
2022.01.28 22:06 Saturdead The Diary of Emmett Rask
At the end of middle school, I had a huge crush on a girl, Miranda. She was the new girl in class and looked at me in a way that no one else did. She didn’t know I wasn’t one of the cool kids; she just saw me for who I really was. She just seemed different from the others. Her family moved around a lot, so she just stayed in town for one semester and the summer break. We knew that at the start of high school, she’d be gone. So that final weekend before she moved away, there was a big party at her place.
As the clock crept closer to midnight, I found myself sitting next to her on the second-floor balcony. We watched the stars, trying to ignore the tension in the air for just a little longer. Or maybe it was just me.
“Do you like me?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Sorry.”
“Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”
Miranda was quiet for a while, until she finally cracked a big smile.
“Just say what I want to hear” she said. “And I’m yours.”
“What do you want to hear?” I asked.
“If you’re the one for me, you’ll know.”
“That’s not fair” I protested. “How would I know?”
But I didn’t.
Midnight came and went, and I just couldn’t find the right words. The silence hung in the air. Her smile faded, and the tension just ran out of us. As the party wrapped up, we said our goodbyes.
That night broke my heart.
But it also sparked a passion in me. I promised myself I’d never be lost for words again. I’d find her, someday, and I’d say the right words. Miranda might have to wait, but I had the feeling I’d see her again. And when that day came, I’d be ready. I’d say the right words.
In high school, I joined the Writer’s Club. I started writing short stories and poems, which later scored me a partial scholarship at the University of Minnesota. I started working on a novel, but I never managed to finish it. It didn’t even have a title.
It took me a few years to realize that all I really had was youthful enthusiasm, and not talent. I was productive, but not very imaginative. Most of my ideas were rehashed themes and dated ideas from pop culture. It was popular enough, but it wasn’t… good. So during my time at the university, I wanted to look further than just my own work; I wanted to learn more about how we tell stories in general.
That’s what eventually lead me to this career. I teach high school English nowadays, and the idea of finding just the right words sort of blended into the mundane background noise of everyday life. Almost 20 years have passed, and I still haven’t seen Miranda again. Some dreams are just not meant to be.
But this is where my story really starts, that I want to share with you. Because a few months ago, I came upon something that would put me right back on the path that I started all those years ago.
It was a late Thursday, two weeks before the autumn semester started. I wanted to bring something new into the classroom, so I decided to check some other lectures for inspiration. I found a video of a therapist, Doctor Jane Bogan, that had about 15 views. It was probably something recorded by one of her students to be shared with their classmates, but it was the title that caught me; “Doctor Bogan and the Magic of Words”.
She had some interesting ideas, but what caught me most was her introduction.
“Imagine, if you will, a blue giraffe. It has no spots, and it has this simple neutral ocean type of blue coloring. It still has the tall neck, the long legs, and the little stumps on its’ head; but it is blue. Imagine the way it moves. The way the neck sways as it reaches for the leaves at the very top of an acacia tree. The way the long legs carefully step over sharp rocks and thick shrubberies. Dark curious eyes looking for the juiciest thing to bite. That blue giraffe, clearly pictured, is something you’ve never seen. But with just these words, it was created. It is something born out of thin air, living inside your mind. But you didn’t put it there; I did. Me, and my words.”
I thought a lot about that blue giraffe, and the way things can be pictured inside your mind with the power of suggestion. With just a few words, Jane Bogan managed to create a crystal-clear image in my mind. As she wrapped up her lecture, she summarized;
“With just the right words, in the right order, we can convey anything to anyone. Communication is the transfer of ideas from one transmitter to a receiver, willingly or not. A word cannot be unheard, and an idea cannot be disunderstood. No, what is born in our mind, stays in our mind, and it controls us through the influence of our actions.”
I was so inspired by doctor Bogan that I reached out to her with an e-mail. I asked her about her research, her inspiration, and just gushed about how much I enjoyed her lecture. I freely admit that not only was it an interesting subject, she was also a masterful speaker.
I didn’t hear back from her. Instead the autumn semester began and a slew of new students shuffled in; already defeated. Having my two biggest lessons scheduled for the final hour of Wednesday and Friday makes me think someone at the administration hates me. It was gonna be a rough year.
And it was. One of the worst groups I’d had in years. Not only were they loud, but some of them were downright destructive. The worst were Kenny (short for Kennedy) and Dwayne, who were class rivals. They were rowdy and constantly competitive, vying for the attention of their female classmates. Always trying to one-up one another, they were a constant source of frustration.
By the end of September, I just wanted to call in sick and look for another job. Truth be told, I wasn’t that attached to the idea of teaching anyway. I was missing my time at the university, and I’d thought about going back for a doctorate position. But inertia is a powerful force, and I’d grown comfortable. There was no way I was just going to give my life up for nothing.
Then came a package. A response from Doctor Jane Bogan. Attached was a letter, hand-written by the doctor herself. It said;
“Thank you so much for reaching out to me. It is a rare thing to hear from a student so eager to learn! The best way to fully grasp what it really means to convey thoughts and ideas is to learn from those who’ve done so better, and for longer. While we can read the Elements of Style until our eyes bleed, there are other sources that not many have the pleasure of reading. To sate your curiosity, I’ve attached one such source.
I wish you a lifelong journey of learning.
The book was the diary of one Emmett Rask. It was mostly written in cursive and dated from the early 1910’s. Glancing through it there were just 60 pages. The text was large, and I didn’t see anything immediately interesting about it. Still, I promised myself I’d go through it. If doctor Bogan had made the effort to send it, I’d try to read it. Hell, I wasn’t one to complain; my unfinished, unnamed novel still rested on a shelf somewhere.
Looking back at it, this is where things started to go wrong.
That same night I read the diary from cover to cover. I fell asleep in the kitchen, book in hand, and couldn’t remember a word of what I’d read. So much for conveying information.
The next day I overslept. I had to rush to work, barely putting on a jacket, and ran a red light. I had to skip breakfast and I forgot my lunchbox. Missing your morning coffee boost might not seem like a big deal, but once you get to your 40’s you’ll realize it is the first step into hell. Again, inertia and routine are one hell of a thing.
I was understandably grumpy all day. When I finally got around to the worst class of the day, I was mentally checked out. So when Kenny and Dwayne started interrupting my lecture for an impromptu dance contest, knocking over no less than four tables and completely derailing my class, all energy just ran out of me. I felt myself leaning my bald head against the whiteboard.
Then, it was as if I woke up. All of a sudden I was facing the classroom, not the whiteboard. Twenty-five youngsters just stared at me; their mouths wide open in disbelief. I must’ve said something, or done something, but I had no idea what. They were completely dumbfounded. Dwayne and Kenny just started picking up the tables, and the others returned to their seats. I checked the time – four minutes had passed.
What the hell happened during those four minutes?
I just wrapped up my lesson, assigned their homework, and rushed back home. I have to admit, I was shaken up.
As I got back home, I took another look at the diary of Emmett Rask. I know I’d already read it, but it still felt strangely new. The cursive made it hard to read, but it told the story of a man working for a pharmaceutical company called Hatchet Pharmaceuticals, and the various progress they’d made in development of early 20th century medication. Emmett was looking into a cure for Alzheimer’s, or “presenile dementia” as he called it.
I found nothing particularly interesting in Emmett’s writing. It was sort of an interesting point of view, but it didn’t teach me anything new about how to convey my words and thoughts more effectively. No, all it did was tell me a story about someone who was struggling to understand something not yet given a name. I could not, for the life of me, understand why doctor Bogan had sent this to me.
The following Monday I was stopped by Dwayne on my way to the teacher’s lounge. He had this stressed look on his face and I could see traces of sleeplessness under his eyes. He seemed just at the edge of having a big yawn, and he barely blinked. His nemesis was nowhere to be seen.
“I just, uh… I wanted to apologize” he said. “I messed up. I’ll do better.”
I was so shocked I couldn’t help but smile. I put my hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eyes, and thanked him. He drew a sigh of relief, perked up, and walked off clutching his textbooks to his chest like a treasure. Until that day I’d never seen Dwayne actually bring a book to class. Whatever I’d said had really gotten through to him.
As he was about to round the corner and disappear out of sight, he turned and called out to me.
“Oh, sir! If you see my phone, could you give it back? I must’ve dropped it!”
I didn’t think much about it. The rest of my classes that day passed on autopilot. We had a few exercises, discussed some classics and had a written test at the end of the day. I decided against better judgement to grade the papers before going home for the night. It took me the better part of two hours, despite the grading being really simple. I was a bit distracted, I suppose.
As the school was going dark I found Dwayne’s phone. It’d been lodged under a bookshelf at the end of the room. The only reason I even noticed it was because of a little red light, indicating new messages. It was this old half-broken thing, and he didn’t even have a screen lock activated. Instead, I just got right onto his phone as soon as I picked it up. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Dwayne’s phone; his background image was a gym selfie.
There was a low battery alert, and a notification about a video file taking too much space. Recording had been automatically stopped. I figured I’d charge it and give it back to Dwayne the next day.
As I got home, I started looking through the drawers to find one of my old charger. As I got to the cable drawer (we all have one), I once again got the sensation that I was waking up. A rush of blood shot through my head, and my arms started pounding. I looked down at my hands, tingling, only to realize I was standing in the bathroom.
My hands were bloody, and I’d broken a nail. Next to me, on the bathroom floor, was Dwayne’s phone; smashed to pieces.
I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
My eyes seemed darker. My gums were slightly retracted, causing a sharp discomfort whenever I inhaled. My mouth was dry, and I could taste a sudden tang of copper. A small spatter of blood on the left side of my forehead.
What the hell was I even doing?
After washing my hands and sitting down to calm myself, I realized there was at least a 10-minute lapse in my memory. I’d smashed Dwayne’s phone. Later I would find the charging cable cut into several pieces in the trash bin.
That night, I was dead set on finding answers. I left a message for my boss, calling in sick for the next day. I checked my symptoms, I talked to an online doctor, and I started retracing my steps. What I’d eaten, what stress level I’d been at, my blood sugar. There had to be something wrong. Food poisoning, a sugar rush gone wrong, something. Maybe my liver was acting up, it can affect pretty much anything.
Still, no matter what, I always came back to square one. No definite answers, just a gnawing worry. And, slowly, my eyes started to drift back to an impossible solution.
Maybe all of this had something to do with the diary of Emmett Rask.
That night I dove back into it. I read about Emmett’s family and his leads into finding a treatment for presenile dementia. I read about his father, who’d suffered from it. I read about his wild theories and the origins of various ailments, but it was all just ignorant early-century nonsense. He had no idea what was going on, or how the world really worked. All he had was worries, and a few ideas where to look. Still, there was a specific segment that resonated with me.
Emmett spoke of trying to find just the right words to get through to his demented father. The right combination of letters and sounds to convey his love, his anxiety, and his desire to help. There had to be, Emmett argued, something that transcends language. Something to convey our thoughts to whoever can understand it; and even those who cannot.
“Someone taught the mockingbird to sing” he wrote. “Someone taught the dog to bark. And something, somewhere, taught us to listen before the age of speech. Someone spoke the first word, yes, but more importantly – someone listened.”
Ultimately, the diary of Emmett Rask didn’t provide any answers. While interesting, it didn’t explain my memory lapses. Instead, I sat back down at my computer to check my e-mail. I wanted to see why doctor Bogan had sent me that diary in the first place.
That’s when I noticed an incoming message, sent from an old phone.
Turns out, I’d sent myself a video file from his phone. It happened during the memory lapse.
My leg started shaking. Ignoring it, I accepted the message and checked the video file.
It was dated from just the other week. Turns out, Dwayne had set up his phone to film the “dance contest”. He must’ve forgotten about it.
I saw the entire scene play out, sound bursting with static from the poor microphone. There were loud bangs as the tables were flipped, and I could see myself in the background leaning my head against the whiteboard. So far I remembered the scene.
Then Kenny started dancing. He only got a few steps in before he bumped into Dwayne, who pushed him back. The two were about to start fighting, when there was a loud bang. In the background, I could see myself repeatedly slamming my head into the whiteboard; louder and louder.
The class fell silent. As I turned to them, they stared. The perspective of the camera was off, as it made me look at least eight inches taller than I really was. I looked thinner, and my eyes seemed darker. They all just stared at me.
I walked into a better angle. I was definitely taller, towering above both Kenny and Dwayne, who usually matched me in length.
I could see my cheeks retract, revealing most of my inner teeth. Not in a smile, but in the way a dog would ward off a predator. I’d never made that face before. Then, a guttural sound. Someone speaking in tongues. The video started bleeding with black and white noise interference. Frames per second slowed to 10, then 5, then 1. Forty seconds of nonsense words, rhythms and made-up sentences. And there, somewhere behind the noise, I could see myself. Hollow eyes. An unhinged jaw. Grabbing Dwayne by the shoulder, a sound escaped me. A sound so powerful it was shaking the internal machinery of the camera.
Then, the video stopped.
A panic rose in me, and I felt like I had to distance myself. The strangest thing was happening to the file; it was gaining in size. A few hundred megabytes turned into a gigabyte. I tried deleting it, spamming the “delete” key, but nothing happened. The system slowed to a crawl. I tried dragging the file to the recycle bin, but nothing happened. Ten gigabytes and rising. I was getting desperate.
As I pulled out the power cable, there was a burst of static. White and black dots, dancing across the screen. And then, nothing.
I just stood there, staring at the black screen. My reflection looked back at me.
I looked taller.
I hurried into the kitchen and sat down at my plastic white dinner table. I opened the diary. There had to be something I’d missed. Something vital.
As I read the first page, I realized - it was all just nonsense. Gibberish, made-up words. Page after page, all seemingly random combinations of vowels and consonants. And yet, I could read it perfectly.
“To convey a thought,” it said “is not to speak. It is to imply. To hear your reader through your work and listen to what they need to be told. What you write is not important; what you tell, is.”
I didn’t understand. I turned the pages. Five pages later, there was still nonsense, but the words formed perfectly in my mind. My hands trembled.
“With the right combination of words, you can put anything into the mind of your reader,” it continued. “You can grant faith. You grant conviction. You can take away pain, and you can plant a seed that will blossom into a flower of your choosing.”
I just kept turning the pages.
“And with the right words, to the right reader-“
More pages. Some turned so violently I ripped them in half. I was shivering, my breath shallow.
I threw the book across the room. At least, that’s what I thought I did. As I blinked, I found it still in my hand. My arm cramped up as I saw myself open the book. The last few pages were blank. In my other hand, a pen.
The blank page made my mind drift back to that night in middle school. The thumping music. The warmth radiating from Miranda. The stars listening to my insecurities. I was expected to know what to say, and now, I was expected to know what to write.
Then, it clicked. The thoughts weren’t my own, but they were there, tainting that one perfect memory with a truth I was never supposed to uncover. I was never meant to know those words.
What I wrote down on that page was just useless nonsense, but I knew what it said. I could read it. In my mind’s eye, I could see myself telling her, and it broke my heart all over again.
“There’s nothing I could say to make you love me.”
All these years, she’d been a liar, playing with me. She had no intention of being with me. To her, as well as the others, I’d just been a face in the crowd.
The birth of my passion turned to ashes.
There was a presence in the kitchen. I could feel it. Something cold and enormous, both in stature and truth. Something otherworldly, reaching from the other side of time to transform my mind with relentless words. The same being that had taught Emmett Rask to listen, over a hundred years ago. It came to me that night with a parade of dedicated students in tow. He’d found the cure.
A physical manifestation stepped into the kitchen. A black silhouette, a void for my mind to fill with a horror of my own. My eyes burst with color, trying to fill the nothingness, making my brain flood like a kaleidoscope. Humanoid shapes stepped forward, pushing the book to my chest. A head the size of my torso met my forced gaze with unseen eyes. I screamed only to feed my ears a sound other than my beating heart. My eyes bulged, unblinking, trying their best to look past the impossible.
“H e l l o” it said.
And molded me.
That night, I fever-dreamed of a world beyond our own. A world with a sky of static noise. Ignorant lives blinking in and out of existence, leaving nothing but black flecks of dust behind. But there I stood, among generations of fools who put their ear to the ground - only to hear something they shouldn’t have. In the distance, a being. The one who taught us to listen. The one who changes us.
I fell to my knees, speaking in tongues. Over a thousand lifetimes, and at the blink of an eye, I worshipped at the gate of our master. The one who steps through the void. The one who speaks and listens.
The one who lives in the mirror.
The next day, I awoke on my couch. There was a large stain from my sweat, and I was running a nasty fever. Over the next few hours, my body purged itself. Something held me back from looking in the mirror, but I forced myself to do it. I recognized myself. It wasn’t completely me, but I recognized myself nonetheless. But there was also something else. There would always be something else.
From the outside, it is easy to see the way my words have changed my students. My most problematic class have become my most obedient, and students like Kenny and Dwayne have changed their ways. In a way, I must’ve told them whatever they needed to finally listen. I still teach, and I imagine quite a few of them listen more than they used to. Maybe I’m finally finding the right words.
The strangest thing about having your mind rewired is that you don’t know what you were, as opposed to what you’ve become. There is no difference. I don’t know why I want to tell you my story. I don’t know what seed I’m planting in your mind, or what it will blossom into. I think that however it changes you, you will never know, or realize. Perhaps you are better off that way. Perhaps you shouldn’t listen.
I know there is something inside me. Perhaps it is still growing, or acting outside of my knowledge. I try not to think about it. I try to convince myself it never happened, but it did. Something about me is changing, has changed, and will continue to change. But I think I know what it wants, and I know that if I don’t do what I’m told I’ll be dragged back to that place and thrown at the feet of that glorious thing. I know it. I know it. Your soul lives eternal.
Over the past few months, a conviction has been forced upon me. An ember in the ashes of my broken heart. I don’t think it is something I want, but it is something I must do.
I’m finally finishing my novel, but not the one on my bookshelf.
I’m gonna finish writing the Diary of Emmett Rask.
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2022.01.28 22:06 SqueegeNJ pocket pet is fast asleep
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2022.01.28 22:06 laur408 [WTS] KAC MOD 1 Upper (TX)
2022.01.28 22:06 Thick-Increase-2665 What careers do you have to study a lot for, but then end up not making you a lot of money in the future?