Hi. I'm fairly new to this sort of thing and am getting myself rather confused. Turns out ChatGPT sort of makes stuff up and runs you around in circles, so any help from humans would be much appreciated!
I want to test how multitasking affects cognition. To do this I'm going to do the following:

• Measure participants on their level of multitasking to begin using a pre-established scale, and put them into one of three groups (low, medium, or high multitaskers) based on prior research thresholds.
• Test their cognition using 4 different tests.
• Train each groups to do more multitasking, for 1 hour per day for some period of time
• Test them again at the end on cognition to see the differences
• Perform an ANOVA to see how the multitasking training affected their cognition, and examine the differences for each group (e.g. did the low multitaskers gain/reduce more in cognition scores than high multitaskers?)

But I've encountered a few problems:

1. Would it be appropriate to have 6 different control groups - since multitasking is the training variable, it obviously includes two different tasks at once (watching TV and listening to the radio, let's say). And there are three different groups for each kind of multitasker (low, medium, high), so would I need 6 different control groups (TV-only low, TV-only medium, TV-only high, radio-only low, radio-only medium, radio-only high) to control for these activities affecting cognition and not multitasking itself? So there'd be a total of 9 groups. This might cause issues splitting participants so between so many groups.
   
2. This would be a 2x3x3 ANOVA, wouldn't it? With 1 within-subjects factor (time, 2 levels: pre-test and post-test) and two between-subjects factors (multitasking frequency, 3 levels: low, medium,high; and experimental condition, 3 levels: experimental, radio listening control, and TV control). Does that look right?
   

With that, I'm struggling to find the best option to do an a priori test in G*Power. I've put 'repeated measures, within-between interaction' with 9 groups and 4 measures, but I'm not sure if that's quite right, as it gives a very low sample size with .80 power for a medium effect - only 54 needed? Surely not. 54 participants split between 9 groups?!
Thanks again.

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I think this realization has finally hit me after 20 years. Its hard to admit this to myself and others but I really must say this..
I can not drink responsibly. I can not keep it under control. I cannot trust myself to not drink too much. I've tried numerous times, quit several times, and slowly tried to re-introduce drinking with moderation but eventually start to go off the rails.
In the past I had a history of alcohol abuse, and had some pretty bad (and very embarrassing) nights . One of the most embarrassing things I did, was during a blackout which I have no memory of. basically, I had to told about this happening afterwards. Apparently, I was so drunk that when our designated driver was driving us home, I asked to use my friends bathroom as we dropped her off. I still have no memory of this. Apparently I was so hammered that I went into her bathroom and just unzipped and went. As in just all over her bathroom floor.. I peed all over my friends bathroom floor and had no memory of it. Guess what, she didnt really remain friends after that... It is still very embarassing to recount this story now, but feel that I owe it to myself to remind me how bad it can get.
I stopped drinking completely for several years. It felt good. I was not counting days sober at that time, but I remember eventually the urges to drink went away after a couple years. Then suddenly, one day I had a relapse. Well, it was intentional so to speak.... It wasnt like a rock-bottom moment or mental health crisis. Instead, I was in a 'good place' and feeling 'happier' about life. Therefore I told myself I was ready to 'try again' and believed that I was capable (or should be) of keeping the addiction in control and moderating my use. I told myself (bargaining) it was important that I prove to myself that I was an adult capable of keeping drinking under control..
Part of this I think was obviously the addiction and the bargaining to justify the drug. But I think is also partly about how I was raised, society and our culture. As in I felt expectation from myself and society that if others can drink responsibly, then so I should I. But that is not how it works.. and this truth hurts. Its not about being mature or adult enough to handle responsibility. This was like a straw-man fallacy I was telling myself, that if I could not handle drinking responsibly, then I wasnt being an effective and responsible adult in society.
So when I first relapsed after years, I started with moderation and I only went out one night and had a few drinks and stopped. I didnt binge, or go on a bender.. but then time progressed and I began to go out more often. I began to justify and make excuses for myself on why I could drink more often. Like saying to myself "Well I was able to handle X drinks n X days and I am still being responsible, so I could do it more!"
This was basically the start of the cycle again. I would eventually start drinking more, and more and more. More days per week, more drinks per night. Until I accidently have too many and Have some extra bad nights (vomitting/blackout/embarassment) , then quit for a time, and then eventually start up again.
Every time that cycle started again, it eventually increases in amount and frequency. It has been an identifiable pattern with inevitable outcome each time. I went from occasional drinks on celebrations to every weekend eventually to most days of the week.
I need to stop. I cant drink Alcohol anymore.
I have started to break promises to my fiance, and has put more strain, stress and anxiety on myself in our relationship. When she caught medrinking and got mad, I would get defensive and start to lash out and make excuses for my behavior. She smokes cigarettes and I dont anymore. And I hate that she smokes, and feel like If I dont get her to quit, I am basically watching her slowly kill herself from smoking and being complacent to it.. But I tried to use this as a stupid excuse for why I drink. Like "Oh well if you have your own destructive drug, then why cant I have my own destructive drug" as is that somehow made it ok. This thought is so stupid and childish that I acted that way just because of being so defensive about being an alcoholic and breaking promises. I feel so shitty about this. The 2 hours of buzz I got from a few beers is not worth the damage I am doing to my relationship. I don't think she is ready to leave me... but I shudder at even the thought.
I found myself trying to sneak in a few drinks during the day, even when I said I wouldnt. Then after numerous times of my partner being able to smell the aclohol, I would start trying to hide the smell. After the drinks I would wash my hands, like 2 times. Then brush my teeth, scrub my tongue. Wash my beard and face with soap and water. Then wash my hands again. But within moments of being close to my partner again she immediately smelled it anyways. And that gut-wrenching feeling of panic and nervousness as I realize she caught me and I felt guilty. Because I knew I was doing something wrong. Its kind of crazy to me how I go about convincing myself to try and hide the smell and dont feel guilty, but then feel extremely guilty when I was caught and I feel so shitty about trying to hide it at all. Honestly, even if she didnt smell anything but just point-blank asked me "did you drink today" I could never lie on the spot. I would tell her the truth. But basically this is just as bad as lying about promising that I wouldn't drink during the day. It didnt matter if I had 1 beer or 12, I was lying by breaking the promise. And trust is not something easily mended nor regained..
I have so many reasons not to drink. If my alcoholic history wasn't enough... If warnings from my parents about genetic addictive behavior wasnt enough.... My Grandfather is someone I never met in my life. Because, he died before I was born. How did my Grandfather die? Not from lasting health issues as a result from drinking. Not in a drunk driving accident. He died from acute alcohol poisoning. He died from literally drinking himself to death. My Grandmother woke to find him dead. I can not imagine what it would feel like to wake up to finding your husband/wife or partner dead from self inflicted but unintentional causes. That story alone should have been enough to deter me from every touching a drink. But I tried to tell myself I was different, or stronger, or somehow able to handle it. Alas, I am not. I can not control the demon. And I think of my Grandfather's story as an example of the extreme end of what alcoholism could do to me if I continue let it take control.
More reasons: The cost, being broke, in debt, trying to save money when without pouring it into a bottomless hole
This is my first post here, and it is difficult for me to admit all of this. But I want to thank those here who have been posting and sharing their stories has helped me believe there is hope for me.
Sorry for the long post~ IWNDWYT

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Interestingly enough, only two live-action films have ever opened this month to over $40 million and emerged with a 3x multiple over their opening weekend, and they were Ready Player One and G.I. Joe: Retaliation. If these estimates hold, John Wick: John Wick: Chapter 4 would only need a 2.72 multiple, but the only films to reach that number in March have mostly been family-friendly fantasy-based titles (2017’s Beauty and the Beast, Alice In Wonderland, Oz: The Great and Powerful), though Captain Marvel, The Batman, and Kong: Skull Island did so as well. Zack Snyder’s 300 is the only R-rated film with a $40+ million opening this month to achieve that number. But another thing the John Wick films have is consistency in this realm. No matter how big or how small the opening, their multiples are less than 0.5 apart – John Wick (2.98), John Wick: Chapter 4 (3.02), and John Wick: Chapter 4 (3.0099). That is pretty remarkable in its own right, and if the franchise maintains its word-of-mouth fandom, the fourth installment should be on track to cross $200 million. Adding another $64 million internationally, John Wick: Chapter 4’s total is at $137 million, or about 41% of Chapter 3’s global total. Once it reaches $300 million worldwide, Wick will be in the black. allah Borosah ....,,,

I’m a data hoarder and hate the fact that I’m loosing statistics over time. Sadly recorder is very inflexible (not possible to change retention per entity), so I’ve set “purge_keep_days: 1000” and watched my db file grow into oblivion.
Recently I installed InfluxDB and configured HA to store in influx.
How do I best proceed going back to normal recorded settings without loosing data?

Ok so a year ago I bought my first pair of airpods (gen 3) which I love. There hasn’t been a day since I got them that I haven’t used them. However they have been recently going wrong (not connecting properly, touch not working) so I wanted to switch them out as I have an extended warranty I paid for. Now I could either do a straight swap or use the money towards getting AirPod pros. Using a gift card I’ve got the price difference would only end up being £30.
Now I use my AirPods every day. In general use, on public transport and in the gym. I always have mine on early full blast and am worried I’ll damage my hearing. I mostly listen to music (hip hop and rnb) and comedy podcasts. Is it worth getting the pros or is it better to stick with the 3’s?

My wife seemed sound asleep as I looked over at her side of the bed, awakened in a cold sweat in the middle of the night from the strangest dream. Like many of my dreams, they don’t exactly manifest in the form of placing me in its shoes, seeing the fantasy world from my own point of view. It’s more like watching a film play out before me; the invisible camera operator guides the picture whichever so way they please, and I simply sit back and watch it unfold. I’d brought this up to my psychiatrist many times before, of course, and his reaction was always the same. “Isn’t it obvious, Ace?” he’d playfully tease, “You’re an actor. It only makes sense.”
This one started differently than any other one my mind had conjured up before. I was guided along an aisle between a sea of auditorium seats, and vertically ahead sat the dock of the theater stage. Unlike the vacant cushioned red row seats that surrounded me, the stage appeared occupied with 12 figures that I assumed to be the actors. From this distance, their faces and even the outlines of their bodies stood as a blur.
The ‘camera’ proceeded forward, and as it did so, my line of sight became more in-focused, and strangely enough, I could make out that they were all of a similar size, race, age, and near identical in stature, only slightly different in their demeanor, and I could almost swear, the closer I got, I could hear them all speaking amongst each other with the exact same voice. It didn’t take me long to figure out that they were identical variants of one another, but furthermore, I was a little embarrassed of myself of how long it took to realize that they were all actually duplicates of myself.
Twelve different versions of myself, dressed in separate costumes and hairstyles, speaking in different accents and dialects, all mingling amongst themselves in a single horizontal line across the stage, the entire scene looked like a moving painting of Da Vinci’s The Last Supper. As I stepped closer - or I should say ‘glided’ closer, wherever which way this imaginary ‘camera’ intended to lead me - one peculiar version of myself stood out to me first. It wore a brown leather jacket, washed-out jeans on top of rugged boots, and blew a cigarette as the fumes danced over its curly brown bowl-cut hair.
That was the Lance Jackson character I’d played in The Curbside Chronicles, one of my first gigs on an old NBC serial drama back in my early acting days. The character was somewhat of a rip-off of James Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause if the angsty teen persona didn’t sell that enough.
Another one presently on the stage was my Reese Malone character I’d played in my first feature film role, a shy but clever recluse who served as the ‘nerdy one’ of the bunch amongst the main cast in the movie. And no, I didn’t get the girl in the end.
Henry Clerval, in a made-for-TV adaptation of Frankenstein, appeared on the stage as well, standing out like a sore thumb dressed in 19th-century garb. That one landed me a Primetime Emmy nomination.
Then there was Charlie Stone, the tall, dark, and handsome gentleman next door who actually did get the girl this time in a romantic comedy I’d played in. Don’t confuse that flattering description of myself with me being conceited; my makeup artist did wonders for me in that role, I remember. God, I secretly cringe looking back on it, though I’d never mention a word of it in interviews.
Cliff Potter, the passionate and eager-to-please high school teacher with a chip on his shoulder, did everything in his power to prove to his inner-city students the importance of a good education to get far in this life. Ugh, not one of my proudest works - another to add to the bad trend of ‘white savior’ flicks from the 90s.
As the perspective shifted through the line of the various roles I’d played over the years, like a physical timeline of my portfolio reflected before me, I began to notice the main one who stood center stage, not talking to anyone. Instead, his eyes stared off aimlessly into the empty crowd.
It was one of the more recent roles I’d played, just after the one that landed me my first Oscar. Jonathan Mayfield, a good family man, loyal husband, caring father role I nabbed in ABC’s latest sitcom, Joop’s Boulevard, a complete reverse from the role I’d played prior…
I tried to make out the words that were being said amongst the crowd of duplicates of myself, but to no avail. You know how dreams are; nothing makes sense at all while everything also does at the same time, in the moment, at least. It’s not until you wake up and realize how nonsensical everything is. Words and text appear impossible to decipher in dreams, and hearing things with your left and right brain sometimes proved no different.
Though, as I concentrated harder, I began to notice that the volume that they were all speaking at began to descend, until, eventually, they each came down to a subtle whisper to the variant next to them. Just going off of my judge of character, though I still couldn’t make out their words, they seemed to be whispering out of means to keep some sort of secret, as if they didn’t want to be heard. Everyone but Jonathan, that is, who remained as frozen and rooted to the ground as a tree, staring off blankly into the distance.
Then the ‘camera’ began to pan more toward his direction, and soon began closing in on his face. Even though my physical body wasn’t present in this very scene, from some abstract dimension, I suppose, a sensation from within my gut grew a nervous itch. Something was off about Jonathan’s eyes. They were mine, of course, with my actor body serving as the canvas that played him, but his lifeless eyes, as I perceived them, weren’t actually lifeless at all. Something lay just beyond the windows of his sockets.
He was afraid. Of what, I didn’t know, and that, in turn, made me just as anxious…
In the frame of the dream currently presented by the ‘camera,’ Jonathan then remained the only center focus of attention, his paralyzed, panic-filled eyes serving as a close-up shot. It’s almost as if he was staring at me face-to-face, making me more uneasy. And at once, the whispering amongst the eleven other clones of myself stopped altogether, and dead silence remained.
I could feel my heartbeat rapidly climb from that imaginary place where my body would’ve otherwise stood, and slowly, as the ‘camera’ panned into an over-the-shoulder shot in reference to Jonathan, I suddenly discovered the source of fear shared by him and the rest.
Behind him stood the character I chose to shut the door on and never look back a little over a year ago now, the one who, even in my dreams, still came knocking even after all this time. The Oscar winner himself…
He stood parallel behind Jonathan, glaring malevolently at him, but Jonathan remained to stare forward, trembling, as if he knew turning his head would end for him the same way it did the Greeks who looked Medusa in the eye.
I woke from the dream immediately after that with a sort of survivor’s relief, as if doing so saved Jonathan’s life. Ridiculous, I know, but as I said before, you know how dreams can be…
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Chateau Marmont
The following afternoon, we wrapped up shooting for the day for the new and upcoming police detective role I was currently starring in as the lead, and I was now leaving the studio lot to meet Patrice for lunch at the Chateau Marmont, our usual lunch date spot. She had ordered her usual caesar salad with a side of just berries (said she was trying to watch her weight, which I thought was ridiculous; she looked fine) and I got the charcuterie board with a side of hummus and fries.
Patrice liked to make fun of the way I took it upon myself to remove pieces of crackers and cheese of the sort that overlapped each other and placed them at their own corners of the plate. I’m one of those types; I just didn’t like things on my plate touching each other.
Some moments passed of us picking out our meals before she started with her opening question.
“How’s shooting going?” she asked, taking a bite out of her salad.
I nodded, as I was still chewing my own food before scarfing it down and answering, “Good. I think this season’s gonna be really good this time around.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m sure the ABC execs could use the pull. Not everyone’s fully gotten on board with moving everything over to streaming, it seems like.”
“It’s streaming,” I affirmed.
“I know, but you know how stubborn a lot of the oldheads are with understanding that the days of episodic, weekly releases are kind of a thing of the past. Everyone wants to binge nowadays.”
“Mmm, I don’t know. I think there’s some sort of strategy to doing weekly releases over dumping everything at once still,” I added. “I mean, think about it, you binge a whole 13, 22-episode season at once in, like, one or two days, and then now you’re craving more and you have to wait a whole entire before the next one is released, versus if you release then weekly throughout the season, it gives more time for people to talk about it, bringing in more viewership and buzz, and then before you know it, hey, season two is out before winter.”
Patrice concurred with a nod. “Touche. Maybe you can sit in with me at some of these exec meetings back at Universal; they could learn a thing or two from you.”
Patrice was only five years my junior, but if you ask me, leagues ahead of me in the game. I’d been acting since I was a child and got my first break when I was a still pretty much a kid at the age of 15, but ever since she sealed her first contract with CBS to direct an episode of Jordan Peele’s 2019 revamp of The Twilight Zone, she’s been a trailblazer amongst her peers, defying the odds that a woman can still make it in this business well past her prime. She’s long paid her dues jumping through hoops, from running miscellaneous (and at times downright demanding) errands as an on-set PA, then onto 2nd Assistant Director, followed by 1st Assistant Director, before finally landing her big break. The rest is history; she runs her own production company now after her first Primetime Emmy win, and is now in talks to direct and produce the next big project in collaboration with Monkey Paw, A24, as well as Blumhouse. To say I was proud of her was an understatement. She didn’t need my approval.
She then changed the subject.
“So, when I woke up this morning, I found a nice little note left on the kitchen island after you left,” she spoke in a playful inflection, as though it were an inside joke of some kind.
I furrowed my brows. “What note?” I asked honestly.
She smirked suspiciously, like a parent questioning a guilty child.
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” she teased.
“Uh, sorry, hon, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insisted.
She shook her head. “You’re not gonna give me anything, huh?”
“Give you what?”
“You’re acting skills may fool the rest of the world, but you can’t fool me.”
She then pulled out a small folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of her blazer, which I assumed was the note she was referring to. She held it up momentarily for emphasis before opening it up and revealing what was inscribed.
“‘Til death deliver us from evil, dear Sadie,” she read the words aloud, sending slight shivers down my spine.
A nervous chuckle escaped me, as I didn’t have a clue as to where the note came from, though there seemed to be no other suspect at the moment. She and I were the only ones who lived in that big house, and Teresa, our cleaning lady, only stopped by once every two weeks, and this week wasn’t her turn.
“Hey, tell you what, I won’t spoil any ‘possible’ upcoming surprises for our… you know,” Patrice said.
I did know exactly what she was referring to. Our 7th anniversary was just two weeks away, and no, I didn’t forget. But this wasn’t part of any elaborate scheme leading up to a big surprise. That wasn’t what I had planned, anyways.
“Patty, I’m sorry, honey, I seriously don’t know-”
“Gosh, you thespians sure know how to commit to a role, don’t you?” she leaned back in her seat, hands clasped, still attempting to fish it out of me - to which ‘it,’ I still wasn’t sure of.
“You said you found it on the kitchen table this morning?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I took a closer look at the words, particularly the handwriting. It wasn’t in the way that I wrote.
“That’s not even my handwriting,” I noted.
“Oh yeah, I’m quite aware of your dedication skills to playing the part - believe me, I know,” she egged on.
I stammered at what to say next, but nothing came out.
“Like I said, I won’t spoil the fun. I’ll just play along and see where this leads me to,” she continued. “Besides, who said I maybe didn’t have a little surprise of my own?”
She sipped her sparkling lemon water as my eyes somehow got transfixed on the endless bubbles fluttering to the top of the glass.
“‘Til death deliver us from evil, dear Sadie?” I repeated the words.
It was the most quoted, repeated, and arguably recognized line from modern-day cinema taken from the last picture that cemented my status as an Academy Award winner. It was as famous a line as “Good evening, Clarice” or “May the Force be with you.”
“I’ve tried not to even think about that script since…” I began, then faltered.
Patrice grew quieter as well, dancing her fork between her salad.
“I know,” she spoke in a low voice. “Me neither. That’s why I was… intrigued, is all. Hopefully, it doesn’t in damage control or anything like that,” she dryly humored.
After taking a bite from her fork, she looked up and noticed the solemn demeanor on my face, and quickly reverted herself.
“I was just kidding, babe,” she tried to soothe.
I took in a quick, deep breath and looked down to notice I’d barely touched my food.
“You know how I feel about that role,” I said almost in a whisper.
Patrice nodded earnestly. “I’m sorry. That was… insensitive of me. Trust and believe, I didn’t forget.”
All I could remember, on the other hand, from last night was that disturbing, trippy-ass dream. I never experienced anything like it. I just said I hadn’t thought of that role since then, and yet, he showed up at my subconscious door last night, clear as day, as true as the sky is blue…
“I think I might need to pay Cromwell a visit,” I suggested.
“Cromwell? Why?”
“I think I might be sleepwalking.”
“Um, what makes you think that? You’ve never sleepwalked before. Right? Well, at least as long as I’ve known you.”
“No, I haven’t, but I remember my mother saying that my dad used to do it years ago from time to time. Not too often, just once in a blue moon, but it did happen, so I know it runs in the family. I’ve been told it’s genetic.”
“Do you think it can happen this late in your age?”
“It’s possible. It’s the only other explanation I can think of as to how that got there.”
I could tell Patrice wanted to prod again with another playful tease at the notion that I was bluffing but could perceive her noticeably restraining herself.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Cedars-Sinai Medical Center
“So, how’s the production going?” Dr. Cromwell asked, taking a seat in the chair across from mine.
“Well,” I nodded. “Very well.”
“That’s very good to hear.”
His cheerful, gravelly, booming voice was filtered throughout his old age, and I always found his grey mustache to be a suitable accessory to his facial features. Patrice jokingly referred to him as the ‘real-life Pringles man.’
“My wife and I finally got through season one just the other week,” he continued, “after we finally had some time to ourselves to relax finally, and I gotta say, you might be my new favorite TV dad, Ace.”
I smiled and forced a flattered chuckle. “Aww, you’re too kind, Kirk.”
“Well, I think the day I become ‘too kind’ might be the day my field of profession is a little too oversaturated,” he joked. “So tell me, what’s on your mind? I know since the last time we spoke, we were at a different place, but it seems that things have improved since then, which is wonderful, but I’ll go ahead and stop speaking and let you have the floor, yeah?”
I inhaled and exhaled.
“Well, like you mentioned, things have been a lot better since last year. I, uh, haven’t had a drink in six months, so that’s something.”
“Good,” Cromwell uttered. “Is that something you’ve been managing well? Are you happy with staying sober?”
“Much happier,” I affirmed. “I haven’t had a taste for a beer, wine, anything since…”
My mind began to trail off to last night’s vision of terror. The menacing figure looming over Jonathan flashed in my mind.
“... Yeah, since then,” I finished.
“That’s great, Ace,” Cromwell said. “That’s really great. Glad to hear things are going well for you.”
“Mmm, well, almost perfectly well.”
A short laugh escaped Cromwell. “I guess I suppose you wouldn’t be here today if things were, am I right?”
“Yeah… just a forewarning, it’s nothing bad, really. At least, nothing at this level, I should say.”
Cromwell’s lips furrowed in a curious study.
“I… think I sleepwalked last night,” I confessed in a low tone as if I had just admitted to wetting the bed. “As far as I know, I’ve never done it before. I mean, Patrice claims I never have, but I do know it runs in the family. My father used to do it once in a while, years before he passed, per my mother.”
“Hmm,” Cromwell uttered. “What made you come to that conclusion? That you sleepwalked?”
“Well, yesterday, Patrice and I had lunch, and she pulled out a note that she said I left on the kitchen island either the night before or maybe the next morning - whenever. I have it right here, actually.”
I pulled out the note and handed it to him to see for himself.
“Recognize the words?” I asked.
Doc’s eyes danced left and right in succession as they studied the paper.
“‘Til death deliver us from evil, dear Sadie,” Cromwell repeated the words. “If I didn’t know any better, that’s a quote from The Eight Ball, isn’t it?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s right.”
“Congratulations on your Oscar win, by the way.”
I hesitated a moment before responding with, “Thank you.”
“But uh… I’m sure you’re not just here to gloat about your recent career boost to me now, are you?” Cromwell candidly confirmed.
“... No,” I answered sincerely. “To be honest, Kirk, I know it sounds a little ungrateful to say, but I’m not proud of my win. Everyone around me praises me for my work, applauds me for my performance, saying I absolutely, without a doubt, deserved it, but the truth is…”
I trailed off, noticing Cromwell’s understanding visage, knowing good well why I felt the way I did.
“... Well, you remember how I was last year,” I stated, to which Cromwell concurred with a single nod. “The heavy amounts of drinking, the bad financial decisions I made, the random violent outbursts…”
I shook my head at every word that carried with my voice, ashamed of each action I’d made in the past year following the departure from the role.
“I swore to myself,” I continued, “swore to Patrice, that I’d never take it that far ever again for any role that comes my way from here on out. I will never commit myself that much to a character like that again. Any character.”
Cromwell squiggled his notes on a piece of paper.
“I’m going to assume that,” Cromwell held up the note, “that based on this note, and based on what you’ve told me today, you believe this is what you wrote when you slept-walked - excuse me, sleepwalked - last night, something in relation to the character you played in that film? The same film that nabbed you the Academy Award, must be still haunting you? Is that correct for me to assume, Ace?”
My face stared off at the ground at Cromwell’s feet, I’d imagine in the same pose I’d seen Jonathan replicating in the dream. And as with the dream, from some unseen dimension, I could feel the presence of some malevolent figure looming over me, with me oblivious to his company.
I simply nodded as an answer, as if speaking might set off an internal alarm of dreadful pandemonium.
A moment of silence passed before I finally had the courage to speak again, clearing my throat.
“If you notice, too,” I added, “from my pre-screening sheet when I signed in at the desk, you’ll notice my handwriting on their compared to the handwriting on the note aren’t even the same. I know that because when I took on the role of… him, I adapted a new one to better immerse myself.”
I followed Doc’s eyes again, noticing them shift left and right from both sheets of paper, as his head nodded in confirmation.
“Yeah, it does look like two different people wrote these,” Cromwell said. “Ace, last night, when you believed to have been sleepwalking, as you claim, do you recall having any dreams of some sort?” Cromwell finally asked. I was expecting it.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He was there.”
“Who was?”
That face… that face burned into my brain. A glare that could make the Devil himself flench.
“Geb Oleander,” I hissed his name, like spouting venom from a snake. “The character I played.”
“Mmm,” Cromwell nodded. “And why do you think Geb would show up in your dream last night? Has he been on your mind lately?”
I shook my head. “No, no he hasn’t,” I answered quickly. “He’s the last thing I’d want on my mind. And I’m not sure why he popped up in my dream, or nightmare, I should call it.”
“Describe the dream to me - if you feel comfortable, of course.”
Maybe talking it out with someone was just what I needed to shake the feeling off. After all, that’s what Kirk was here for.
I described in as great of detail as I could recollect, from how the perspective of the dream seemed equivalent to treading along a dolly camera system, and how it felt like I was floating rather than walking, to the numerous duplicate versions of myself in the different roles I’d played over the years lined up on stage mingling, and of course, the terrifying transition of the dream into a nightmare as the camera closed in on the Jonathan alter ego-version of myself, petrified as a prey locking eyes with its predator.
“I haven’t thought about him in over a year, and there he was, as if he was just, you know, taunting me,” I spoke. “Almost like a reminder, you know? Like, he was saying, ‘I’m still here.’”
I don’t think I realized it at that moment, but my voice had changed to his when I said the words, and with a shuddered recoil, quickly brought myself back.
The doc’s left hand scribbled across the paper in various loops and directions, which I assumed was legible to him and only him.
“Ace, correct me if I’m wrong, but the current part you’re playing right now - that you’re currently shooting - is a detective role, yes?” Cromwell asked.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“This is a new sort of part for you, isn’t it?”
I tilted my head left and right in a so-so way. “I’ve played similar personality types in the past, but this is my first actual role as a cop, yes.”
“So you’ve been fulfilling this new role as a police detective, a very competent one at his job, I’d assume, and you’re now having visions and nightmares of a previous role you played as a serial killer returning in your sleep… can you guess where I might be going with this?”
It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together. I think Kirk sometimes forgets that part of my job as an actor is to be a part-time psychologist in order to get in the heads of each character I play. No offense to him.
“You think the archetype of the detective is in a tug-a-war within my subconscious against that of the serial killer?” I presumed to be the correct answer.
Cromwell nodded, then raised his hand in preparation for possible blowback, “It’s all right, you can say it.”
I let out a brief sigh. “I know it’s your job to analyze down to the barest bone, but don’t you think that might be a bit of a reach, Doc?”
“Ace, wouldn’t you agree cutting a patient down to the barest bone to discover an ailment can be quite unnecessary when all they came in with was a bad cough?” Cromwell remarked.
As funny as it sounded, I suppose he had a point.
He continued, “Sometimes, the simplest answer is just that. Our brains hide everything from us while at the same time leaving behind its messy footprints for all of us to see. You being the actor that you are of your caliber, I’d imagine, are putting in all this work, all this research, studying this new character you’ve taken on from top to bottom, reshaping your mind into that of an actual detective - this is simultaneously coinciding with the previous role that you did as the complete opposite, whether your consciousness chooses to recognize it or not. I can see it clear as day. You soon start to realize that our different personalities within us aren’t just separate pieces of a puzzle, but instead they all bleed into each other. A baked pie had to be whole before it got sliced into pieces, it didn’t just become that way to start. Now, am I one-hundred percent confident that I’m right on that theory? Of course not. Everything is subject to be questioned and further analyzed like anything else, and me being an expert doesn’t make me the expert. However, the last thing I want for you is to overthink and overanalyze a problem that’s already proving to be somewhat stressful for you. For the sake of simplicity, for now, let’s just say things are exactly as they appear, yeah?”
At the end of the session, after some time chit-chatting and discussing more trivial matters, Cromwell slipped me his own special doctor’s note for reference in case the studio execs or producers needed it.
“I’m gonna prescribe you some Trazadone,” Cromwell said. “We’ll start you at a low dose of 25 mg, and if need be, we can increase the dosage if your quality of sleep doesn’t improve. It should help lower the chances of any potential sleepwalking in the future. I also recommend asking Patrice to keep tabs on you as well, see if she notices any unusual sleep patterns from you or, of course, if you commit the naughty deed, of you sleepwalk again.”
He smiled to add a pinch of humor at the end to always try and end on a positive note, putting up his finger like a parent politely correcting their child, and I appreciated his warm goodwill. I was to have a follow-up appointment with him again three weeks from now for an update.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After picking up my Trazadone prescription from the pharmacy, I was exiting the hospital lobby when suddenly a high, cheery female voice called out my name.
“Ace!” the voice called.
I jerked my head, always expecting the 50/50 chance of an unexpected fan encounter, then was met with delightful surprise to see my old co-star.
“Mandy,” I grinned as I made my way over to her for a hug.
We briefly embraced, as we hadn’t seen each other in a little over eight months since we wrapped up shooting on The Eight Ball, and a firsthand, up-close witness to my elaborate performance as the notorious Geb Oleander. She did reach out to me much later than that, actually, after news broke out - thanks to TMZ, yours truly - that I went into rehab, showing her support and that if Patrice and I ever needed anything she’d be there.
“How’ve you been?” she began. “You and Patrice getting by well?”
“Yeah, we’re great, Patrice is doing wonderful. I mean, can’t even begin to scratch the surface,” I said forcing a chuckle.
“Oh, that’s so good to hear… and you? How’ve things been? I know since we last spoke, things were kinda…”
She didn’t have to finish, as I knew exactly what she was about to say.
“I’m doing much better, thanks,” I assured her. “Much, much better.”
“That’s great, Ace. Seriously, I’m happy for you - happy for you both.”
“Thanks, Mandy. You look great, by the way. I’m digging the blonde on you.”
She blushingly scoffed. “Aww, you like it? Thought I’d switch things up, ya know? Gotta reinvent yourself every once in a while. You’re not looking too bad yourself, these days. TJ and I’ve been watching Joop’s Boulevard almost every week, when we have time, that is, and we both just adore you as Jonathan on the show.”
I coyly smirked to the side. “Aww, thanks,” I appreciated. “I see you’re making big moves yourself. Hear you’re in talks with signing a deal with Disney for an upcoming Marvel project?”
“Mmm,” Mandy playfully grinned, looking to the side. “I’ll just say, it’s ‘in the talks’ still.”
“Nice. I have no doubt they’ll find a good fit for you. Patrice is more of the geek with that stuff, so I’m sure she could give you some pointers.”
She laughed. “Well, Ace, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but I got a meeting to get to in like” - she looked at her smartwatch - “yikes, fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, no worries, we’ll catch up,” I let her on her way.
We were both just leaving the hospital and on our way out, and I held the door open for her as we both exited the building. She pulled out her Ray Bans and slipped them over her eyes as the bright LA sun stunned us both in the face.
“But hey,” Mandy said, “send me a text later and we should all plan to get together and have dinner or something, yeah? TJ and I, you and Patrice? We’ll make it a double date.”
“Absolutely, that sounds good to me. I’ll catch ya later, Mandy.”
“It was good seeing you, Ace!” she smiled and waved as she walked in the opposite direction of the parking lot to her car.
“You too…” I almost forgot to say back.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I made it all the way back to my Jeep Grand Cherokee (Patrice gifted it to me for my 47th birthday last year) and after taking a seat behind the wheel and shutting the door, stared at the orange bottle of pills I’d just been given. My eyes, for some reason, got fixated on seeing my name in capitalized print across the label, then to my date of birth.
When I looked up at the rows of cars lined up across from me, I could still see Mandy making her way to her car, reaching in her purse for her keys, strolling carelessly by in her flowy dress, and her dyed blonde hair dancing in the wind. She was a natural brunette, I remembered, and the only other time she dyed it blonde, from as long as I’ve known her, was when she starred alongside me in The Eight Ball…
Then, a strange phenomenon began to occur. Recalling the events, it was hard to say specifically when each moment overtook me, but by a weird flash, not of light, but brief black-tinted shades of vision, overlapped my eyes, like the switching shutter of a vintage projector, and my brain grew foggier with each passing second. It was like slowly noticing and growing more cognizant of upcoming inebriation, though, I hadn’t had a drink in a little over a year. I was afraid of passing out, but in a moment’s notice, it was suddenly over just as soon as it started, or so it seemed.
Some beats had passed before realizing that my eyes had followed Mandy all the way from her stroll in the parking lot all the way to her car. I’d been staring at her for way too long, I thought. But it was only just that - a thought. I’d compare another time to this sensation almost like when I used to get ‘runner’s high’ when I used to do long-distance running, but it felt as though me, myself, were taking a seat behind the wheel of my conscious, and the rest of my body started driving on autopilot. I suppose that explains why I didn’t take notice of me tossing out the bottle of Trazadone on the overpass not too long after.
Again, it’s hard to say how long the entire thing lasted, but at some point, I made it back home to Patrice in time for dinner that evening.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
She was in her study, as usual, typing profusely on her desktop, answering and sending emails back-to-back, with a cup of hot tea on the side.
“Hey, hon,” she greeted.
“Hey.”
“How’d it go?”
“How’d what go?”
“Your appointment with Cromwell?”
“Oh… yeah, it went well.”
“So, what’d he say?”
“Um, he, uh… prescribed me some Trazadone. Said it would help with the sleepwalking. If that’s what it is.”
“Okay, well that’s a good start. When’s your follow-up?”
“Three weeks from now.”
She nodded, then her eyes furrowed at the sight of what I assumed was my attire.
“Did you have that on when you left this morning?” she questioned.
“What do you mean?” I sounded puzzled.
She shrugged. “I coulda sworn you threw on your teal blazer and slacks when you left this morning, not your jeans and leather jacket.”
“It’s just blue, baby.”
“No, it’s teal.”
I scoffed. “You like the blazer better?”
“You look good to me in either one, handsome.”
She shot me a devious smirk, and I shot back a playful wink.
“Let me go grab my pills out of the car, I think I left them.”
“Okay.”
When I got to the car to check, however, I began to wonder just where the hell I put them. Losing little things like keys or cards were normal for me, and Patrice often had fail safes in place for me in the event of it happening, but strangely, I found the brown bag that I’d pulled the bottle out of, but not the bottle.
Recounting my steps, the last thing I could honestly recall was getting in the car after leaving the hospital, and staring at the prescription bottle, confirming that I did indeed pull it out from the bag. All just after I got done talking to Mandy…
I checked under all of the seats to see if it rolled under, but found nothing. Then I checked the trunk, to which there was still no orange bottle, but something else unusual caught my attention. An ever-so-slight hint of greenish-blue glistened in the sunlight over me barely sticking out from the cargo floor, stuffed in the spare wheel tub.
Then Patrice’s voice naggingly echoed in my brain, “It’s teal.”
I lifted the compartment, and there it was. My ‘teal’ blazer and gray slacks, both crunched and sloppily bundled up atop the spare tire. Damn, I just took that to get dry-cleaned last week, too. And then I noticed another color jumbled across the solid tints of teal and gray.
Splatters of newly-dried crimson…
Is that why I changed? Was I bleeding earlier? Surely, I would’ve remembered that…
I went back into the house to meet Patrice in the study.
“Honey, I’m gonna have to drive back to the hospital, I can’t find my-”
When I made it to the doorway, I noticed she wasn’t there. But this time I could hear the TV was turned on, with the volume echoing throughout the house with how loud Patrice must’ve had it. I met her in the living room and saw her standing in front of the screen with her hand clasped over her mouth, eyes liquidated in horror and dread.
“What is it, honey?” I stood next to her.
She said nothing, just stared at the news ahead, and I soon did the same.
Breaking news reported that Mandy Shoemaker, who I’d just seen not too long ago, was found stabbed to death in her home. Her husband, TJ, also a friend to Patrice and I, wasn’t home at the time, and unfortunately had to be the one to find her desolate body sprawled on the living room floor.
Patrice sniffled, and I put my arm around her for comfort.
The news anchor spoke, “It’s still unknown at this time of any prime suspects and as to a motive for the horrific murder of Mrs. Shoemaker, but police have shared a disturbing finding at the crime scene that we presume was left behind by the perpetrator. We do want to warn folks sitting at home or at work, viewer discretion is advised.”
They proceeded to show a partially blurred photo of Mandy’s lifeless body, revealing barely legible blurred letters carved into her torso by the sick fuck. He left behind a message? God…
The news anchors translated the words for us in fine print, as they didn’t want to show the actual photo taken at the crime scene for obvious reasons. When I read what was inscribed into her skin, I felt nauseous, taking my arm from around Patrice.
“‘Til death deliver us from evil, dear Sadie.”
Then I just blankly stared at the screen, and realized I was standing there just as Jonathan was in the nightmare. I could feel his presence looming over me, somewhere in an unseen dimension, his glaring, hellish eyes jeering at me.
Geb Oleander was back, and it seemed he had some unfinished business with me…

Hi everyone I'm new here. I'm trying to loose roughly 60lbs in six months. From a weight loss calculator I found online at: https://www.bmi-calculator.net/weight-loss-calculato#result, to do this I would need to "consume 1482 calories per day, down from 2646 calories per day currently, or exercise more to boost your calorie burn rate by about 1164 calories per day."
I haven't really worked out since I was in highschool and now I'm starting again (woot woot) I've been going to the gym for two weeks now, four times a week, every other day. I stay for 2 - 2.5 hours each time. Eventually I'd like to go 5 times a week for two hours or more each time. I don't have a smart watch that can track how many calories I'm burning anymore but today my regimen was: Ab Machine, 55lbs, 15x Reps, 3x Sets Row Machine 70lbs 15x Reps, 3x Sets Seated Leg press 140lbs 8xReps, 3xSets
Stair Stepper Machine 94 Flights, x30min 225Cal Burned
Treadmill w/ .5hr incline 64min 2.62mi. 425Cal Burned
2.5Hrs total
All said and done it might be around 850 Cal burned through the workout alone, and in total it could be 2,400+ Cals I'm burning throughout the days I work out. (Unless if someone here has a better idea plz help). I also ate about 1,300 Calories today.
SO I'm wondering about it all. If I'm burning 2,400 Cals in a day but only consuming about 1500 Cals or slightly less, is this healthy?? It can't be sustainable right? or.. am I don't this right technically

TL:DR: F7SS is a very nice watch with a rather large caveat : glare and dulliness of the screen. Especially for people with poor eyesight..
​
Well, remember my previous post here ?
Ended up buying the 955 but sincerely most of the time I've ben looking at the watch and saying why can't you look like the Fenix? :)
Days have passed, I went skiing and found out that for some unknown reason the ski activity is messed up, Garmin forums said that the issue is not present on Fenix... again said to myself Why?
Was at least happy with the lightness of the watch, but an idea started growing inside my head and, just like in Alien, after the watch started to count 40-50 floors per day just walking to my ofice, and Garmin dealers in my area started having massive discounts, it bursted out... :)
Again, these are all sw light issues and nothing major, my main "bug" was the looks.. was yearning for the F7 design...
So, I sold my 6mo old 955 and the next day went shopping:
- first, "the best of the best of the best" (as Agent J would say) aka the Fenix 7XSS was way to big for my 18 cm wrist. Technically was ok, but man, the bulkness meant that this is no watch to ne worn with an office shirt - my opinion, ofc. So I wrote it off the list.
- second, tried the F7SS carbon grey. The store wouldn't allow me to power on the watch, just put it on my wrist and the form factor (same as my previous F7Solar and 955 was way more familiar and likable.
- also tried the standard Fenix 7 silver, but for some reason rejected the idea of having a shiny watch on my wrist.
Also considered the standard Epix gen 2 that has the same silvery bezel but for some reason my heart kept saying go for the F7SS....
Almost half an hour later after looking at both Fenix watches I went outside happily holding the SS version.
Got home, opened the box to start configuring it and was like "Glare! Glare everywhere!"
Questions started I should have picked the standard F7? or the standard Epix? On top of this wifey looked at the watch and said: "meh, black (when they suppose to differentiate black from carbon grey, they do not, in all other situations the see in sRGB color spectrum) , kinda boring, liked more the silver ones :) "
So, to wrap up, I did a quick SWOT on both 3 choises (F7SS, F7, Epix) and got.... nowhere :) of course!
This is why I'ss stick with the one I bought (most expensive one, logical) and hope that maps won't look dull & hazy when going on hikes in the mountains. I can live with having to look more intensly to see the watch on a daily basis, but at least I'd like to be able to navigate when doing hikes.
I'm expecting to also not having to charge the watch sooner than 3 weeks or even 1 month if not doing anything, to justify choosing Solar and not going on the Epix road.
BTW. F7Solar was not an option, I just wanted a classier watch and carbon grey almost meets this (from my POV, I like the most the F7SS Titanium, that grayish color and chestnut strap are marvelous).

About 3 weeks ago my son (21 months) was sick. Mild temp (100.8 was the max but mostly around 100, didn’t even give Tylenol) and a pesky ear infection that wouldn’t go away (he has tubes). After 2 fussier than usual days, including eating a bit less than usual, he had a completely normal Saturday. He ate, drank, went to a little toddler class we do on weekends, played.
The next morning he slept in and I joked that as a mom you can’t enjoy your kid sleeping in because you worry something is wrong. After awhile I started to actually get really anxious and decided to just wake him up. While we could wake him, he couldn’t stay awake for more than 30 seconds. We rushed him to the ER and then were transferred to Johns Hopkins PICU for 4 days.
We still are without complete answers. We know his blood sugar was dangerously low, even though he ate the day before and didn’t fast longer than usual. It dropped again awhile still on the IV with sugar in it. He had mastoiditis (his ear infection spread to the bone behind his ear despite all of the drops and oral antibiotics) and a ton of wonky blood work. We did genetic testing, have met with an endocrinologist and are doing another round of labs Monday before likely going to a hematologist (and still waiting for leukemia to be ruled out but overall they don’t think that’s it).
Luckily I already have a therapist so I’ve been working with her through all of the trauma. I’ve been struggling reliving the exact moment that all of the doctors rushed around his itty bitty body, working on him and putting needles in him and just watching him not responding to them. A few times a day I feel like I’m sitting in that room again holding my husbands hand and my heart starts rushing and it’s like I’m there again.
I feel like that’s finally starting to get better and now he’s sick. He’s been fussy and snotty today and now that same ear is draining. His blood sugar was normal this morning but was the lowest it’s been since we started checking it.
I know I can’t be done because obviously I have to be here for him and be strong but god I just feel so done. I hate that probably for awhile we can’t just have a normal cold or ear infection. It will come with frequent finger pricks and so much worrying. I’m terrified that even though he seems mostly okay right now, he’s not going to wake up again tomorrow. He seemed normal the night before too.
And I just hate this for him. I hate that he seems to be endlessly sick and that 2 weeks later I’m still scrubbing sticky shit off of his skin from all of the medical equipment.
I’m just exhausted. I want to crawl into a hole and hide. I wish I could rewind to when none of this was a concern or fast forward to knowing he is okay.
I’m just so. t i r e d.

Hi! New here.
So, bit of backstory. Most of the friends i have made in my life have ended up mistreating me in some way. 1st friend i made in secondary school ended up cutting me off and proceeded to bully me/talk shit about me all the way through school. Second friend i made ended up mistreating me too, and i let her. She would constantly judge me and make fun of me throughout our friendship. Another friend in school used me when she fell out with her other friends and then randomly dumped me when she made up with those other friends.
Then i go to college. I have a nice friendship group and things are looking up. Suddenly i make a new friend who completely ruins the friendships i made with said group as she started spreading rumours and saying that i had said certain things that i didn’t actually say. She stole money from me and accused me of wanting her boyfriend, which was just a complete lie.
Now, my best friend of the last few years has randomly distanced herself from me for no apparent reason (we still talk, just not as close). I think we’re just growing apart, but the fact that it happened so suddenly suggests she wanted us to be more distant.
I mean, it HAS to be me, right? I’m the common denominator. But the thing is, i never once did anything to cause these friends to treat me so badly. I’m quite a shy person. I don’t shout about myself. I don’t make a big stink of small situations. I honestly wouldn’t say I’m a difficult person at all and nobody in my life has told me i have any big issues or that I’m repellent in any way. I give gifts and do nice gestures on birthdays/holidays and such. I listen when people want to talk to me about their issues. Only thing i have realised is that maybe I can be a little straight-faced at times, or maybe i have a resting bitch face so people might not want to approach me.
I do have friends right now (i use the word “friends” a bit loosely), but I’m not super close with any of them. Most of them have boyfriends/girlfriends, are moving in together and having babies (I’m single, childless and work is my main focus). That’s great for them, but i guess I’m just feeling a little defeated. I feel like it’s pointless for me to actively try and make new friends that are more similar to me, as most friendships in my life have failed.
Has anyone else had the most annoyingly hard time trying to make genuine friends? Did you realise you were the problem or were you just an easy target? I don’t need a best friend who i see every single day and have sleepovers with 5 times a week or any of that, i like my own space. Just someone who checks up on me. Someone who asks me to hang out if we both have a day off. Someone who is exactly who they say they are. Someone who includes me and doesn’t make me the friend that can’t come because the car is too full or there aren’t enough invites, you know?

Hello everyone. Please, read my post and offer me advice if you can. I’m incredibly lost right now.
My husband and I had our 1 year marriage anniversary 2 days ago. My parents (we live with them) got us a room at a hotel, so we planned to go there to celebrate. Before we left, I gave him his gifts the day before we left to go to the place. The gifts were a cookbook with recipes from his favorite video game, and a painting of his favorite game character which took me around 5 hours of nonstop work. This was also all while I’m recovering from surgery so I was also tired and in pain during it, so I haven’t been in the best mood already, which I think made it easier for me to cry.
We really got into a bad fight because I expressed sadness he hadn’t gotten me anything, not even flowers, and he was yelling at me and I was trying to speak over the tears while he kept interrupting me and asking if he could speak, despite begging me to talk to him about it. I told him that it was so hurtful to not even receive a sticky note with a “happy anniversary” or something small.
He asked me “do you know how much it hurts me too? When I make mistakes like this?” I told him it was incredibly selfish to say that and all I wanted was for him to listen to me speak without interrupting all the time and maybe say some words of comfort, but he said “I don’t know what to do when you get like this.”
He started telling me he didn’t get anything for me because he “didn’t have time,” then it changed to “Well you have access to my bank so you would’ve seen where I bought things from” I said I wasn’t expecting anything that would cost money or something expensive. That pissed him off more for some reason. The fight ended with him saying “Fuck you” hatefully and storming out of the room and taking off, and telling me he was gonna drive the hour home and leave me there for the weekend with no car.
We’ve had conversations before which result in him crying, guilt tripping me, or getting angry and yelling at me. Then he apologizes, and throws money at our problems (gifts) to make up for it I guess. He kept hyping it up so i thought he would have a special, romantic day for us. I planned for us to go to the zoo when we got back, but he made me think he had plans so I dropped mine.
He left and came back with some flowers from a nearby gas station. We continued fighting, I felt upset that he only got me something because I spoke about my feelings and he in turn made me feel guilty about them and ungrateful, and kept interrupting me. He just kept yelling at me and making me feel horrible and I cried for about the next 2 hours. We came home from the hotel early. He’s mad at me because I haven’t forgiven him yet and tried to talk about it again since I wasn’t allowed to last time, but he keeps interrupting me again.
What do I do? I’ve begged for couples therapy or maybe for him to seek individual counseling, but he says since he has ADHD, he keeps forgetting to look into therapy or health insurance (he has none.) I feel like the love has died. He won’t do the simple, sweet things to keep our relationship alive, like I do. I do almost all the emotional labor. I need some advice on what to do or say in this situation so he won’t feel defensive and we argue.
TL;DR, my (19f) husband (24M) of 1 year got me absolutely nothing on our anniversary, then emotionally hurt me and made me cry, nothing was resolved and he’s pissed at me for not forgiving him yet and telling him how I feel.

The HR manager told me I'm starting out with the absolute bare minimum of 20hrs per week like everyone else in the store is . I asked him if I can get more then that and he said I could possibly call on my days off. What? I can drop this job at anytime and get full time without having to take my time for it. Full time is literally something you just put on your application. And no I'm not interested in moving up the ranks, someone most likely will have seniority and those jobs once they're filled stay filled.
How many hours do you guys typically work?
Am I going to have to wait 3 months to be in the union to get a wage I won't starve on?
I'm sorry if this seemed like a rant but I can't live on this. Wont even cover Rent+food

My biological mother and I have always had a stranded relationship. She was a constant bully to me and her children. She hung my bras from a flag pole once because my father took me to his friend’s house to hang out and she got mad at me. I was 12. She would take sleeping pills and say “I took too many because you are a bad kid and if I die it is your fault”. I lived in constant fear that she would murder my in my sleep as a child. I often wished she would to put me out of my misery. She was constantly jealous of me, but I worked hard to go to college and most importantly to escape her. As I got older I tried to maintain a relationship with my family for the sake of my siblings and father. They are completely under her control even now as they live with her. It worked out for a while but I would have to work hard to please my mom with lavish gifts, buying things I couldn’t afford and always making the effort to come to her. I just wanted time with my beloved siblings and father (her husband) I was always a daddy’s girl. He was the light of my life. Well I got engaged to my wonderful partner of several years. She wasn’t happy I was having a wedding better than hers. Even though my fiancé and I were paying for it. She started faking being sick and not being able to walk because the attention was on me. At the shower she faked not being able to walk again and an ambulance was called. Once the EMTs arrived she walked fine. She threatened to sue the place too. She was also saying she would ask people she didn’t like to leave at the wedding, demanded special furniture just for her at the reception. Also, she didn’t like how my makeup would be and got makeup wipes ‘just in case’ for the day. She also wanted me to get a different wedding dress even though mine is at the tailor. She also was telling everyone that she was walking me down the aisle and not my father. Recently I had to tell her that she will not be walking down the aisle at the wedding due to her being unstable on her feet. She could have a wheelchair to go down the aisle or just sit for her safety. Oh no, that wasn’t good enough. She was NOT happy. She now suddenly could walk fine. How dare I not allow her to show off her miraculous recovery! How dare I stop the mother of the bride from walking down the aisle! I BROKE HER HEART! Now she and the rest of the family weren’t coming she told friends. She said ‘if the bridezilla doesn’t want the mother of the bride walking down the aisle then I’m not coming’. And my father didn’t even want to walk me down the aisle, get someone random to do it. I told her she is removed from all future wedding events. She told everyone if she wasn’t coming then none of my siblings were and my father will not walking me down the aisle. She responded expect your family to show up with signs in protest and none of my family will attend even my father and siblings. She keeps telling everyone she will be outside in her motorized scooter with signs of protest. Apparently my father now hates me and is never talking to me again. It really hurts, I love my father so much and support him. My father would call me to complain about my mother all the time. I was basically his therapist. I’m mortified but need to be strong. I have officially gone no contact with her and it feels so good. But I can’t help feeling like a jerk and great sadness. My siblings are blaming me and think I’m a terrible person. I just asked something for her safety. I worked so hard for years to maintain a relationship with my family for it to all be over. I’m now scared for my wedding and that she will show up to cause a scene. I’m dreading what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

Hello, I'll be going to NL for one month and wanted to do a short trip somewhere else (like 5 days max).
I would like to see a winter wonderland (fresh snow, postcard picture) but also something that doesn't break the bank. My budget is around 900 euros including transportation. my initial thought was Kiruna but seems rather expensive?
Also I'm not a fan of slushy snow