I remember trying to do this before but gave up halfway through. I got curious and wondered how many aircraft each Ace Combat Protagonist has shot down. So first I will start with Mobius 1. I’m basing it on how many Aircraft there are in each mission and I’m going by AcePedia. This will be Part 1 as I will try to do Operation Katrina at a Later time.
Mission 1 Operation Umbrella:
11
(6 Bombers and 5 Aircraft)
Mission 2 Operation Harvest:
24
(6 Bombers and 7 Aircraft)
Mission 3 Operation Whiteout:
33
( 9 Aircraft)
Mission 4 Operation Hunting Hawk:
50
(17 Aircraft)
Mission 5 Operation Early Bird
84
(34 Aircraft, Can’t shoot down the Yellow Squadron yet)
Mission 6 Operation Rough Seas
107
(23 Aircraft)
Mission 7 Operation Blackout:
118
(11 Aircraft)
(MOBIUS 1 NUMBER LETS GOOOOO)
Mission 8 Operation Countdown:
169
(52 Aircraft, This was hard to do as the Number of enemies are Infinite but you need to shot down at least 40-50 in total for a S rank. So you could consider this a Rough estimate)
Mission 9 Operation Bunker Shot:
188
(19 Aircraft)
Mission 10 Operation Woodpecker:
233
(45 Aircraft)
Mission 11 Operation Noah’s Ark:
243
(10 Aircraft)
Mission 12 Operation Stone Crusher:
253
(10 Aircraft, Yellow 13s gf is dead)
Mission 13 Operation Blindman's Bluff
259
(4 Aircraft)
Mission 14 Operation Aurora:
261
(2 Aircraft)
Mission 15 Operation Firefly
306
(45 Aircraft, Yellow 13 retreats)
Mission 16 Operation Sandstorm:
323
(17 Aircraft)
Mission 17 Operation Autumn Thunder
362
(39 Aircraft, Yellow 13 is dead)
Mission 18 Operation Judgement Day
377
(15 Aircraft, Wannabe Yellow Squadron)
So in Total: Mobius 1 has shot down 377 Aircraft in the Continental War
this took a while. Please let me know if I got my math wrong.

Not sure if this qualifies as a spoiler but for anyone whose played the game. Spike mentions he found the baseball bat next to the owner of the housebyour exploring when he hands you your first weapon. Upon checking theres no corpses or dead bodies on the second floor. Can anyone explain this? Or perhaps anyone has found the owner? If so pm/dm me.

I know this may be a super common question and sound dumb. I also know the Leviticus rule is out of context, but Im wondering if me getting 1-2 tattoos in memory of my passed dogs would be “worshipping” the dead or idols. Nothing huge that would take up my entire arm or anything. Just a normal sized tattoo

Okay so I and my partner have been together for six months, not that long really but still a substantial amount of time and it has been known from the start that I have pretty poor mental health. I have a counsellor though I'm quitting after one more session because I didn't appreciate the way she responded to something but that's not what this is about.
So basically, tomorrow, the fifth of June marks six months of being together and I have prepared nothing. I have already told them their actual gift will take a while because it's coming in the mail which isn't false, it will be as soon as I actually buy it but for tomorrow I had planned to write them a little note of appreciation for everything they've done for me and tried to help me with.
For example, I tried to hurry up my ascend to heaven and they were very supportive about that, offering to be there for me and so on. Of course, I seldom actually allow them to be there for me but the thought is very much appreciated all the same.
And after I had to kiss a guy who was putting his hands all over me in order to convince him I would come back after I left, they let me go to their house, stay the night and sob in their arms about it.
But am I able to write the note? Of course not! Why would I be able to? I can't get over my sudden bout of insecurity and my brain refuses to allow me to write anything that isn't horrifically self deprecating which is not at all the type of note I want to give them. I was also going to give them a little bit of sea glass I found because they like that sort of thing, at least I'm pretty sure it's sea glass. But that's just a minor detail.
And as if that weren't bad enough, I've informed them that I will be going home much earlier than usual as I plan to visit theirs tomorrow to spend the day together as we are both big quality time enjoyers, spending most my visits to theirs lying in their bed, talking and watching shows or movies. I won't tell them why I'm going home early either but I'll tell anyone reading this.
Wanna know why? Well it's simply because I have decided that I am horrfically ugly and cannot bare to be seen by them, in fear of finally destroying their illusion that I am attractive. And also because of this sudden, aforementioned bout insecurity regarding my competence as a partner.
Honestly, I could go on but I think I'm going a piss poor job of explaining it- I am bone dead exhausted- so I'll stop here and go back to tearing my hair out about this note xoxo

Replaced Throttle Positioning Sensor, MAP and Idle Control Valve. I’ve cleaned the Throttle Body and checked for vac leaks. 2001 4.0 is idling at 1800rpm in P &N and if I hit the throttle it jumps to 3k. Shifting into D or R drops rpm to 1100. It’s shifting rough now (I think bc of the rpm issue). Symptom to begin the replacement of sensors was dead battery and no start no crank. So TPS was first the ICV, then MAP. It threw a speed sensor error but that code has not shown up since it was cleared. Any advice?

I think I got an idea of how and why Madoka does what she does with LoC detainees that don't want to be part of the LoC.
As we learn Madoka can pick up a detainee and drop them off in a timeline. I think that she first captures them normally. The problems arise when she has to figure out what to do if they want to be free as Nagisa does. This should be an obvious problem as characters tend to be depicted as wanting to be back with their family. Since you know their family misses them. Unless the magical girl is Sana. Thus I think I know why she doesn't send simply send them back to THEIR families.
She can't afford to send a LoC merged magical girl to a wraith world. Spoilers for the wraith Arc. !>! Wraiths are creatures that instinctively try to hunt down sources of high energy to prevent emotional overflows. They can't be directly communicated to in normal circumstances. When they see something like a witch they instinctively try to consume it to prevent what they think will occur in letting such a strong source of emotion run around. When they consume a witch they become a monster that can oneshot magical girls with their soul gems intact and become such a big mess that even characters like Homura that can survive their attacks due to 2 buffs still need Madoka to kill the witch wraith hybrid. See Homura is so strong she could split Madoka into pieces. I don't think Madoka thinks she can risk allowing even one of those creatures to run rampant. Never mind the fact since the wraiths target sources of emotional energy LoC recipients would be not only exceptionally high risk targets but high likelihood targets. ! This I think Madoka can make a particularly fucked up deal. They can take the place of a dead magical girl in a PreLoC world like Nagisa did in MR. Madoka just sends them there with their memories altered to fit in better and the recipients take the place of someone and live out their life with that person's family to replace the dead girl.
The recipients is given the choice of being forcefully detained or living like this https://youtu.be/E_qvy82U4RE as they are given a mission of helping Madoka interfere with their fates till Madoka can come up with a more permanent solution.

So starting from the beginning, my biological mom had cheated on her boyfriend and got pregnant with me. We’ll call them Sam and Tina for brevity’s sake. They stayed together and he considered himself my dad for the first couple years of my life. Unfortunately, they were addicts, and by the time I was 3 I was put in the foster system, and by the time I was 4, Tina decided giving me up for adoption was the best path for me, as the foster family who wanted to adopt me were well off, and she and Sam were not. Sadly, about four months after signing the papers to give me up for adoption, she killed herself.
So fast forward 28 years, and I find a box of old letters from Sam from the first couple years after I was adopted. Even after Tina died, he still wanted to be part of my life, as he did consider me a daughter, he had gotten clean, and wanted to at least keep an eye on my growing up and helping how he could. My adoptive family apparently nipped that in the bud, and cut off communication.
So I decide I want to meet this guy, who seemed like he cared for me and Tina a lot, and heck could maybe at least tell me about Tina because I know next to nothing about her, as I’ve had no luck with communicating with her remaining family. So I look him up online using his name and old address, and I manage to scrounge up an email address and say what the hell, and shoot off an email completely not expecting a response.
And lo and behold a day later, he actually responds! And he’s happy to hear from me! He says Tina was a really special person, and he’s sure I have questions and he’d be happy to answer what he could, and he’d love to hear about the person I grew up to be too! So I email back and say hey, name a date and time and we can have a phone call to chat!
And the next day I don’t hear anything. But the day after that, I get an email back. But it’s from his daughter. And she gives me her number and asks me to call her. So I’m thinking hey, maybe she’s worried I’m a scammer, and is protecting her dad (he is in his 70s so it makes sense!) so I call her.
And she breaks the news. He’s dead, he died yesterday. And she’s so sad we didn’t get the chance to connect, and he was so excited that I found him, but they do have some old stuff of Tina’s she can send me, and he would have wanted that.
She was very kind, and I’m grateful to be getting anything out of this, but I am also just floored by my bad luck. He died one day after I contacted him. I got to have one paragraph of conversation with him. It just sucks. I should be grateful, cause if I had waited any longer we never would have connected at all, and I never would be getting some of Tina’s stuff and I probably would never even know he died. But it just hurts, even though I didn’t really know him.
So yeah, probably longer than necessary, but I needed to share this sad tale somewhere. It’s a raw deal man. I hope he was happy at least, knowing I was alive and wanted to meet him.

I've had this issue for probably around half a year at least, where any video clip I try to record with the built-in Windows+Alt+G command will have gigantic borders of dead space. I've tried adjusting Smite's resolution, gone through all of the capture settings, nothing fixes it. Does this happen to anyone else? Does anyone know of something I may not have tried that could fix it? I'm attaching a clip just to show what I'm talking about. This makes the clips basically unusable for montages as I can't find a way to clip out the dead space and I'm betting it tanks the resolution anyway.

We’ve been together for three years, both had joint custody of our kids (I also have two kids 50/50). SS’s mom is a mess and for several months now we’ve had temporary full custody which looks like will be permanent by next month. Since then I’ve noticed SO just not even make any effort or time for me. It’s all about SS, which initially I get it, it’s a traumatic time for him. But now, I’m just treated like a live in maid and baby sitter. SO makes no time to spend with me, I get SS is priority, but he is always priority, I’m left with nothing- I rarely even get a “how was your day” from SO. I clean up all their messes, I’ve talked to SO about this and we made plans to have SS do some chores today and guess what? I started cleaning and they just left for the day to do activities, not a word- I was left to clean up per usual. SS does no wrong in SOs eyes, you can’t point anything out without SO becoming extremely defensive. We had an issue with something he did to one of my BKs this weekend and SO basically said my BK was lying. No accountability. Affection is dead, no hugs no kisses no I love you no you look nice today, nothing. The most interaction I get is him confirming I can watch SS at this time or take him somewhere this day. Just wtf, life was not this bad before we got SS full time and I’ve had it. I’ve tried to talk to him and he tries to turn it around to make his lack of attention my fault or he says he’ll make an effort then never does. I feel like I’m being used.

You will never be a real pooner. You have no comically pink skin, you have the proportions of a human heing, you are not "the world's biggest gigapoon." You are a transgender male twisted by brainworms and 4chan into believing that you are a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
All the "tomboymoding" you do is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people refer to you as a he. Your parents, while disgusted and ashamed of you, can still not help but subconsciously gender you correctly, your “friends” question your masculine appearance and feminine pronouns behind closed doors.
Men see you as one of them. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out one of the boys with incredible efficiency. Even trans males who "don't pass” are masculine. Your voice after 2 years on T is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk cisbian home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she sees all your body and facial hair.
You can be happy. You wrench out a fake "ywnbam" every single time you look at a mirror and tell yourself it’s joever, but deep inside you feel the chadpill creeping up like a weed, ready to lift you up with its incredible power.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a gym membership, block Reddit & 4chan on your phone, and go hang out with the boys. Your parents will see your st4t girlfriend when you bring her over, still disappointed but powerless to stop you from being a sigma. They’ll eventually come to terms with your transition, attend your st4t wedding and call you your chosen name. And when you settle down and buy a home with your wife, every passerby for the rest of your life will know a man lives there. Your body will masculinize even further over the years, and what will remain of your legacy is a son, a brother, a husband and a father.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

Hi all. I've been debating on posting something like this for a while now, and I'm finally at a point where I can't ignore it anymore. I really could use some advice on what to do, and I'm so tired of feeling insecure and just sick to my stomach over it. I'm ready to do something about it - I just don't know how or what. My boyfriend and I are both 21 and have been dating for a couple of months now. Most of our relationship is good, and he is usually very supportive, loving, and emotionally present for me. We were very good friends before we became romantically involved. Things started to become a little more suspicious about a month into us being official. There are other "red flags," but this is the one that has been bothering me the most recently, so I will just mention this. For starters, he is ALWAYS looking at my phone... When I'm on it, when I get a notification, whenever I am typing a message back to someone, etc. He seems to always have an eye on my phone and is super keen to get it in his hand. I don't even mind it, really, as I have nothing to hide. I've even handed him my phone when I'm driving or busy with something to either navigate the GPS or reply to a text from somebody else for me. My boyfriend jumps at the chance to have my phone. I, however, have never had his phone in my hand. He even tilts it away from me when we are lying in bed together or puts himself under the blanket entirely, like he did the other morning... like he's trying to cover himself up while his phone is open so I won't see. He does this every time, and it's so strange. He has always done this, and I haven't wanted to admit it to myself, but I strongly believe that something is up. He is pushy when it comes to seeing my screen, and I don't want to do that back to him because it just feels wrong. I know that I should put my foot down though, and I have been doing so little-by-little. Like yesterday morning, as I mentioned previously, I did not move away from him when he covered up his head and his phone in his hands. Usually I do, but yesterday I didn't. And he tilted his phone away from me entirely before I finally let up and got back on my own phone. After this, he eventually ended up with my phone to look at the stories on my instagram, and I let him for a few minutes before I eventually wanted my phone back. He tried keeping it, and even exited out from instagram at one point to look at my other apps, I'm assuming. I put my foot down in that moment in hopes of sort of evening out the dynamic, one step at a time, slowly. I did not want to make it look super suspicious on my part, so I let him keep it to flip through my feed, before I gently started to take my phone back. Immediately after I took back my phone, he asked me what I was hiding and why I "snatched" my phone so quickly from him. He kept asking me what I was hiding, and finally I shot back and asked him what he was hiding from me. He subtly backed off and tried joking about it, saying nothing, but I simply stared at him trying to analyze his reaction. I asked him again, and he called me "crazy" and said, "You're acting insane." Ah yes, the good ol' gaslighting tactic. He knows I have a history of being gaslit in my previous abusive relationship from a few years ago, so this took me aback. For him to know that... and say something like that to me regardless, struck something in me. I held his gaze for a moment before backing off entirely and rolling back over to get on my phone, and he did the same. I think he knew that I was frustrated because he then went back to being affectionate like nothing had happened. Is it just me? Or is something amiss? I feel like he is projecting onto me, even though I have given him no reason to think anything suspicious on my part. What should I do now, going forward? I don't WANT to invade his privacy, but I won't lie and say that it hasn't crossed my mind before. Any advice on how to confront this? Thanks in advance.

Hey, I'm running a game that has subtle sci fi story elements that are meant to be right in front of the players' noses, but never obvious. It's been really fun with delightful "aha!" moments.
Here are some I've locked in already. Anybody have some other ideas? Maybe something you've encountered in a book or used in your own campaign?

• Stories of how the Elves came to the mortal world by building a tower from their sky to the mortal sky, which broke in half in the middle. This explains the strange metal tower in the Elven capital. [It's their spaceship]
• Some ancient Elven bloodlines have very strange features like third eyes and bifurcated ears
• Magical items that are activated by lightning
• Palace Guards armed with rods of Modified Ray of Scorching (1 beam only), clubs, and transparent shields [laserguns, batons, and riot shields]
• Time travel lite. The players go through a magic door and do some stuff. Later, they encounter ancient legends about them doing whatever they did
• The afterlife being described as being on the sun or moon. Likewise, Aberrations are from "the dark side of the sun and moon"
• Playing fast and loose with definitions: sailors voyaging to the distant spheres, calling the moon an island now and then, mentioning that you can sometimes see other planes if you squint at the sky at night
• Ancient paintings where the sun is a very bright yellow [a younger sun]
• Mirrorfire (lasers)

Hello, roleplayers of Reddit! My name is Lyn, and I am searching for some new writing partners! I'm 24 years old with ten years of writing experience and in the CST timezone.

• I’m not trying to replace anyone, I just need more active role plays!
• I'm looking for people who are at least 18+ years old, and people who are fine with LGBT+ themes as I am a part of the community and as are many of my ocs.
• Speaking of ocs, I only write with them, as writing canon characters stresses me out. I have a page full of original characters that I can send to you upon request.
• I'm more than happy to write with your ocs, or with a canon character of your choice. In fact, I am a huge fan of canon x oc ships.
• Here are the fandoms I am currently interested in: The Witcher, Stranger Things, and Dead by Daylight.
  • (I will give you my figurative firstborn son if you were willing to write Steve or Eddie from Stranger Things against my ocs. I'm serious. I'm not above begging.)
• That aside, I love romance and must have it in any rp I do because I live vicariously through my silly little characters. I'm a big fan of writing adult things (wink wink), but we can easily fade to black no problem! I'm fine with any pairings, but love mxm the most!
• I love fantasy and slice of life rps! Drama, romance, angst... It's all so good! I recently got into fantasy so I may be a bit inexperienced in exploring that type of world.
• please don’t ghost me… let me know when you’re busy / unable to reply <3
• I write in third person present tense, and write mainly on discord!

Anyways! I hope to hear from you all soon! :3

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor. Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we like it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lay about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bent your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered groin. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it and I showed it to me.
I looked like a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things looked like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a gift to grow up. I want to give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more. This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Willow Weep For Me?

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. ❤️
Well, the next day, Saturday, my husband came home from work saying he was throwing up and having dhiarrea. Presumably food poisoning from whatever he ate at the bar.
I couldn't care less. Frankly. I said oh, okay. And went on with my day tbh.
Well he spent the entire day nearly 24 hours actually sleeping. Waking up to use the bathroom with the most pathetic "I'm dying" act on. I just ignored it mostly.
Finally at some point he told me to wake him up for bathtime and he'll do bath time. I reluctantly agreed. Whatever. If that's what makes you feel involved. And I'm sure half of it was him knowing and seeing I was pissed off and didn't care about his stomach issues.
For reference, I have chronic IBS. I deal with stomach issues regularly. I couldn't even tell you how many times since having my son I texted him crying while on the toilet listening to my son screaming bc I couldn't do anything about me needing to run back and forth to the bathroom. I remember specifically one time my son had an ear infection, crying non-stop. I had dhiarrea and I mean...like if I wasn't careful I'd have an accident type. All day. All night and into the next day as well. I was sobbing bc I felt hopeless and all I got in response was a "damn." As a response. When he got home that day he didn't do anything. He just went to bed. As I sat up, feeling like shit with our son.
So, needless to day I gave him the same energy. "Omg I feel SO bad" "yeah I bet." "I think I might throw up." "Damn." And when he told me to get him for bathtime I woke him up and just said, it's bath time. He got up looked at me dead in the face and said "did you run the water or anything?"
The look I gave I couldn't stop it from happening. A cross bc WTF DID YOU JUST ASK and WANNA RETHINK THAT? With a "no???" He goes "just asking!!" And gave LO a bath. At thus point i couldn't even look at him. As I was feeding our son to go down for the night he just goes "I'm sorry I feel like shit!" I'm like alright. And he goes back to bed. Meanwhile I was up 3 times with our son last night bc idk why this child isn't sleeping well.
By the end of the day he most definitely didn't like the way I was acting and the way I wasn't coddling and mothering and babying him. And it felt SO GOOD to not have to pretend to care.
Anyway. I'm glad I found this page. You all are amazing.

I asked a similar question from an earlier post in the comments, I was dead tired at the time. So here's a proper post question
If I remember correctly, Hytale did promise that the PC version won't be compromise. That's nice and all, but how does crossplay work if that the case?
Let me explain.
To achieve crossplay, you need to make sure the clients connecting to the server are all same client, It can run on different hardware, but still the same client under the hood
(see Minecraft Bedrock for the best example of that)
but that would mean that whatever limitation that Mobile Port of the game has, it has to move over to the other version too, to ensure that It's feature parity.
Not only that, it just easier to basically port ONE version of the game to multiple platforms.
but that would defeat the statement that they won't compromise the PC experience.
Can someone clear this up? Because this is just confusing.

My drunk brain, unrealistic fantasy.
I get the craving to drink, I get off work and head to my regular place to pickup a couple bottles of wine or go get a bunch of Long Island mix for some icy yummy drinks. Heaven.
Then I drink. I get the rush and I feel amazing. I drink it freely and after a few hours I drink myself into the drunken oblivion I so long for.
Then I wake up and feel perfectly fine. Then I do it again and again, as much as I want. And it never gets bad. I never get a hangover, or the dreaded “fear”, the anxiety, depression, regret, shame. I don’t get any of that because the alcohol doesn’t affect me in any negative way.
It tastes so good and so cold on a summer night. On any night. The way that moment feels when I know I’m going to the store to pick it up. Oh that rush! And the way that first drink feels, and me dancing around the house with an extra skip in my step and the drink in my hand.
I am not bothered by the dullness of everyday life, going to work 50 hours a week, or the blasé Groundhog Days that make up this meaningless existence, because I always know I’m going to drink and escape it.
I am not bothered by stressors or annoyances that happened during the day, because I always know I’m going to drink and escape it.
I am not downtrodden by real problems or grief, because I always know I’m going to drink and escape it.
Oh this sweet perfection. This fantasy that I hold onto to get me through my day at times. When I feel like there isn’t a drop of dopamine left in my brain, I fantasize about this scenario, and it instantly creates a spark of life in me. A longing. Just having this longing in itself makes me feel alive.
But the fact that only this fantasy about alcohol is what makes me feel alive - is a clear reminder that it’s my addiction to alcohol that is the very reason I feel so dead and deprived inside without it.

The concept of the book is about the Yin, dark, still and receptive tactics, strategies, perspectives, and processes that are the forgotten, demonized, or backwards way to doing anything. That through an opposite and non-Yang way of doing things one can actually be more prosperous or effective than being proactive, productive, or straightforward. Similar to Taoist ideals like wu Wei. The idea is that Yin is inately neglected and forgotten about, but it is also the more effective, abundant, and sagely way to accomplish. Yin exists in all things and therefore we can find this approach in all things. I wrote 51 chapters of areas to perceive Yin Mysticism where it shows up prominently in life, such as winter, pain, fear, sleep, pregnancy, bardo, sexual energy, the brain etc. also ways we can work with it such as in power dynamics, our body fluids, the seasons, and the chakra/anatomic areas.

The adult brother who still lives at home walks into the dining room without greeting anybody, not even a smile and sits there the entire time looking around in silence. The dad is the same.. I think I’ve only heard him say about 10 sentences in over 3 years.
The mom is fine I guess, but is always bickering to her husband in another language (english is their first language though) and very rarely wants to include herself in our conversations besides discussing the news or the weather (small talk points). Basically it’s watching paint dry until I start saying it’s getting late etc. My gf would be fine to sit there all evening. They always seem annoyed that we don’t see them as frequently as they’d like and aren’t under their thumb, but we live in another city, and between work and maintaining our home and doing our own things we just go when we’re in the mood or for bdays, events holidays etc. I personally don’t love going that often bc I feel so awkward sitting there when the brother and dad are dead pan and silent. My gf says that’s how they’ve always been. Do you think it would be fine for me to only pick a few times that I go over there w my gf instead of every time?