Hi all, bit of a long post alert. I moved to Ireland on a work visa and will have the Irish passport in hand (if all goes well) by late 2029. I am currently on 41K gross annual and it will likely go to 60K, if not higher, by 2028-29. I contribute 4% to pensions (around 200 euro per month) but most of my money goes to rent which is around 1400-1450 (including electricity). So, I barely save 200 euros per month. I have no debt. My queries are these: 1. Should I buy a house in the first half of 2025? I would only have saved around 30,000 in down payment but would be eligible for first time buyer scheme (assuming I find a house in Dublin 😅) 2. What if I decide to move to the US after getting the Irish passport (assuming I get US work visa)? For my job, the salary I would be moving to will be around 150-200K (guaranteed). Will I be able to rent that bought house and let the mortgage pay for itself in Ireland? I would be coming back to Ireland after US work visa (6 years) expires. 3. I plan on getting married in the next 2-3 years, should I wait before buying a house?

Hi Everyone,
Was hoping to get some opinions on my current situation.
Background:

• Girlfriend and I live at my dad’s condo which we rent from him - we pay $1,200 a month. Rent here is closer to $2200-2500 for a 2 bedroom.
  
• I make 70k plus commission and she makes 100k. I have no debt but she has various student loans and a car payment.
  
• We’ve enjoyed the cheaper rent as I’ve been able to contribute more to my 401k, IRA and savings than I normally would have.
  

He’s offered to sell us the place for less than market value. The place would normally go for about $260-$280k based on other units selling recently. He would sell it to us for 30-40k under. I have about 25k in cash I could use also for a down payment.
We ideally want a bigger place since (its a 2 bed 1 bath 1000 sq. Feet. We have no kids and no plans for them.
However, would it be worth giving up the cheaper rent and getting a mortgage at these current rates to take advantage of his offer?
Thanks in advance!

Long story comes, I appreciate if anyone reads it and tries to make sense of it.
I'm a beginner writer and I met this girl on FB, in a beta-writer group. I needed a beta reader to find grammatical mistakes, logical issues etc in my works, and she was one of my readers. It's not really a rule but a basic gesture to return the favor, so I also offered her to be her beta reader - she and I did it this many people over the years.
I really liked the way she was writing. She said that she likes my works as well. We both decided that we will just automatically read each others stories if one of us would need a beta, and we did that... for about 4 years.
In the last 2 years I started to really like her. At first we were only talking about writing, but later we opened up in front of each other. She was into classical literature, like I was. She liked to watch anime, like I did, she liked the same genres in books, she liked to talk about interesting and deep things. I literally thought I met a soulmate, and I confessed her this.
Some people would say that being in the "friendzone" is a horrible thing, but that was literally my aim. I can't really imagine myself marrying anyone, I just wanted a friend, who shares common ideas and values. We became friends. We met two times, once in a medieval fair, and once because she told me that if I every go to the capital city, we might meet - so we did. She sent me a little package with a cute letter for my birthday as well. It was a little bit weird, because after this, I wanted to do the same, but when I asked about her birthday, she was angery and said it's not my business and then later she apologized it. She said she doesn't like to talk about it. I didn't push the subject anymore.
Then, after the 2nd meeting, she went totally silent for 3 days. That day was one of the best days in my life, we were walking in the streets, talking, she showed me a japanese tea shop, and showed me how to navigate in the city. Then I went home, I sent her pictures and informations about a anime shop in city she didn't know about. Complete silence.
After 4 days she wrote me a long message about her feelings - that I'm too much, she didn't tell the truth about most things and she didn't consider me as a kindred spirit. I was so devastated I was literally crying and felt like I was betrayed like hell. She said it's weird that I was writing to her girlfriend and I write so much to her, while she is much younger (she was just 18, I was 26).
This is where I was really shocked. I understood that I could be annoying - I'm passionate about the things I like, especially when it comes to books, games or movies. Sometimes I realized that I was writing too much - I always apologized for it, and I told her if she ever find this annoying, just tell me. SHE NEVER DID. She even said she found it funny and amusing.
The 2nd shocking thing was her age. I wasn't aware of of the age gap because she NEVER told me about it. My age was public. Her data was private, because that's how she liked it. And she gave many fakes informations about herself on her page - like that she was married. I understood it, she was tired of guys trying to hit on her. I started to figure out of it after a ton of conversations, and she admitted it. I still never tried to hit on her. I considered her as a great friend. THEN she suddenly says that I'm weird for writing someone much younger? BUT HEY, she was hiding her age from me... she didn't write about it on her FB, and she denied to tell me when I asked about it (for her birthday, as I said earilier).
3rd shock: I literally wrote her girlfriend only twice, and beacuse of 2 reasons. First reason: she was the only person I knew on FB beside her. Second reason: I wanted to gift the girl a similiar letter for her birthday, and I decided to send it to her anyways, even if I don't know her age or the current data. I asked her girlfriend's opinion about it - if it would be a mistake or not. She strongly advised me NOT TO DO IT. So I DIDN'T DO IT.
She also said that many times I didn't care about her opinions when she gave me advices about my writings. I literally told her that if she'd EVER re-read any chapters I sent to her after correction, she'd see that I corrected every grammatical mistakes and more than half of her suggestions were put into the story. There was no single case where I ignored anything she said! I just didn't change EVERYTHING the same way she wanted, because after all, in some questions I had more knowledge about the subject than she had.
I wrote a long message and explained this all to her. She admitted she was wrong about not telling me her real age. She said she shouldn't use me like this, but I didn't understand her problem. I never wanted to be more than a friend. I never crossed any line, and didn't even intended to do it in the future. WHY was she pushing me away, after these years?
She said she needs to concentrate on exams and she doesn't have time for me. I literally said I don't care. She can text me whenever she wants, daily, 3 days later, a week later... but why the hell would she break the connection? She said that I was too much. She said she tried to tell me this, but she felt pity because I was kind, and also for a time, she truly believed that we are similiar. I was so in rage I just told her she betrayed my trust so much I can't go just leave without knowing the truth: would she ever consider me as a friend, or she'd like to totally cut all the ties? She said "I never wanted to be friends in the first place". She also said the personal things she shared me, like her problems with her family, were not that serious that she wouldn't tell it to anyone. She also said that sending me that letter for my birthday wasn't special either, she'd do it for anyone - which is really weird, because I never met anyone who would do this for someone "stranger".
I told her to just delete me or block me if she doesn't want anything from me ever, because I really thought that I SAW the real person behind her mask. And I'd never break this bond only beacuse of her lies. I liker her personality and believed that she was either manipulated by someone against me, or she just had a really hard situation in her life and she was confused.
SHE NEVER DELETED ME. She never said that "i want to end this right now". And she still wanted to be professional in a way, so we could still be beta readers to each other.
After months of silence, when I refused to write to her and tried to collect my thoughts, I could calm myself and agreed to it. I told her that Idk what's going on in her mind, but I'd be there as a FRIEND, and I'd still like to be a beta for her as well.
That's our current situation. And I'm confused, because we are still doing everything we did before. Outside of writing, we still talk about our common interests. We still talk about books and serieses. We still joke with each other, sending memes, etc. NOTHING CHANGED, basically, after her "episode". And I just don't understand anything. Of course, a part of me likes this, because we are still "friends". However, I never understood the reason she once tried to break this "relationship", and there is always a chance that it might happen again, and I wouldn't see it coming. I just can't figure out what did I do wrong. What did I say that I shouldn't... or was it just an "episode", beacuse of some difficulty in her life, and it wasn't my fault at all?
You need to understand, she is deeply imporant to me, because I never thought I'd find a person like her. I'd never thought I'd find a girl who likes "nerdy" things, likes to dress in victorian era clothes for fun, and likes to have deep conversations about books, characters and real life. I'd never imagine that I'd find a person who loves Lucy Montgomery's Anne, and I'd never thought I'd find someone who sees life in a similar way I do.
I might be wrong tho, I'm slightly autistic, and I'm aware of it. I'm aware that I can be too much or weird, but it's not like I can help it. But I never failed to notice when I was wrong, I always tried to correct it. Or when i didn't notice it, I appreciated when someone noted it.
So, you, who dared to read this huge mess... what do you think? What will be the future of this "relationship"? What did I do wrong previously, for real... Or only she saw things that wasn't real? What should I do... just keep acting like nothing happened, and forgive everything, like how I would like to?

When the edged wind came to our village, it seemed like a typical Alaskan gust. One fitting for late December. Then, as the tall tide of frost lashed against the shore of our home, the sagging branches of the yellow cedar trees stopped bouncing. And I abandoned the idea of the breeze being a breeze at all.
Once others understood that, the time for running had passed.
The unholy wind reached the village’s main road, causing two moving cars to sharply and statically stop. The vehicles were frozen in place, much like the people within those metal graves. Onlookers, enjoying a brisk afternoon in the park, began to scream loved ones succumbed to that supernatural end. Imprisoned in a capsuled moment of time.
Those first few victims were the lucky ones. They’d been oblivious to the fate which awaited them. True terror was endured by those who beheld the raw power of the wind. Those unfortunate enough to see the end coming.
Regardless, the remaining townsfolk, burdened with the awareness of impending doom, futilely attempted to escape the approaching breeze. Those fleeing residents, far slower than the unnatural frost, were halted in haunting poses as the wind bit into them. Limbs were suspended in mid-air positions. Eyes were left wide and unblinking. Mouths were cursed to forever gape in horror.
“RUN!” Dad screamed, sprinting towards us from a nearby park bench.
My brother, my childhood friend, and I were sitting in a sandbox. Already engrossed in a fantasy world, I wondered whether my imagination had conjured the wind. I thought my mind had transcended to a higher plane. It was my way of processing the trauma.
However, I accepted the reality of the situation when my father shoehorned the three of us into his Volkswagen Golf. The icy jaws of the wind were nearly nipping at the rear of the vehicle as Dad twisted the key in the ignition, but the beat-up car rapidly lurched forwards. My father wrenched us away from the frost, seconds before it consumed us.
“Daddy, where are we going?” I tearfully asked.
“I don’t know, Jillian,” He weakly moaned, manoeuvring around fleeing cars and pedestrians.
“Are we picking up Mummy?” Alan asked.
Dad ignored my brother’s question. I was only eight years old at the time, but I knew that my mother wasn’t coming. I understood the significance of the tears in my father’s eyes.
For twenty-six years, I successfully managed to suppress that memory. Did such a good job, in fact, that I almost believed it had all been a dream. I started to believe that we had simply moved away from our hometown, and Mum had simply chosen to stay. Dad never convinced me otherwise. He never talked about what happened. Neither did my brother.
As for Leon, he moved to an orphanage in Anchorage. We wrote to each other for a couple of years, but his replies became less and less frequent. Eventually, he stopped responding entirely. I used to wonder why my father didn’t adopt my childhood friend, but I suppose that would have forced him to accept what happened. And, like me, he had no intention of doing that.
I thought we would run back to England, having failed to achieve the American Dream. But Dad kept us in Alaska. I assumed that he’d been driven by stubbornness. Or guilt, perhaps. We’d already fled our home. Perhaps fleeing across the pond would’ve been a step too far. Perhaps it would’ve felt like truly abandoning our mother. Whatever his reason for staying, Dad didn’t tell anyone the truth. He never went to the police. He never returned to look for Mum.
“Don’t look back, kids,” I remember him whispering as we fled the frost.
I followed that advice for the next couple of decades, only recalling the event for the briefest moments, from time to time. When Dad bought the first computer for our family in 2000, I Googled the name of our old town. I typed the word before realising I was even doing so. I was still young, of course, but I knew that nothing about our speedy departure had been normal. I wanted answers.
I’d expected to discover that my village had become a ghost town. That would have made sense. Alaska’s unforgiving climate breeds desolate places, born to be abandoned. However, the search results revealed nothing, so I told myself I’d imagined the village. I told myself we'd always lived in Anchorage.
As the years passed, I became comfortable with the notion that none of it had ever been real. Not even my mother. And that was why I did not expect to see a certain person again.
“Happy birthday, Jill.”
My jaw dropped when Leon Taylor appeared on my doorstep.
It might seem strange that I would recognise a man who was a child when I last saw him, but Leon always had distinctive features. I immediately identified the mole on his neck, just below his facial scruff, and those sorrowful eyes, shadowed by his unmistakable overgrown brows.
“Leon?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
The man smiled weakly. “Sorry, Jill. I should’ve done this the Millennial way. Y’know. Reconnected through Facebook.”
“No, it’s… I just never thought I’d see you again. Do you want to come inside?” I asked, motioning at the hallway.
Leon nodded, so I made a couple of coffees whilst my old friend seated himself in the living room. A boy who I’d almost forgotten. Almost entirely erased from existence, just like our old town. But I’d always known, just beneath the surface of my shallow memories, that it had all been real. The truth of my childhood was always within reach. As I brought the drinks into the lounge, hands trembling, I tried to dispel the thoughts flooding my mind. Thoughts of that awful day.
“How’s your dad? How’s Alan?” Leon asked, taking the cup of coffee.
I sighed. “Dad’s been unwell for a few years. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, and he’s getting old. As for Alan… Well, Alan’s the way he’s always been. Uptight, and distant, but–”
“– When was the last time you spoke to him?” Leon sharply interjected.
The question caught me off-guard. “Huh?”
“Your brother. When was the last time you spoke to him?” Leon asked.
My face drained. He knows, I thought. How on Earth does he know?
“Three years ago,” I answered.
My old friend nodded. “Did you fall out?”
I scoffed. “That’s an understatement. You remember what he was like when we were kids, don’t you?”
Leon shrugged. “He was two years older than us. We must’ve infuriated him.”
I nodded. “Sure. But I grew up, and he never did. We had a big argument, and we haven't spoken since.”
“Interesting,” He responded.
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a man of few words these days, Leon.”
The man cleared his throat. “Your brother messaged me a week ago.”
My other eyebrow raised. “What?”
“It was a very strange message.”
“Did you reply?” I asked. “I thought you would’ve preferred to ignore it.”
He lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Jillian. I replied to some of your letters…”
“Then you forgot about me,” I said. “It’s embarrassing that I didn’t get the hint.”
“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Leon sheepishly muttered. “I read all of them. Every last letter.”
“Oh, well, that’s great,” I laughed. “Nice to know that you cared.”
“Jillian, I…” Leon paused, lifting his head. “I was scared.”
“Scared of what?” I asked.
“Remembering that day,” He replied. “It’s why I told your dad I didn’t want to come and live with you.”
“It’s… What?” I asked.
Leon tilted his head. “You didn’t know? Did you really think he’d just dump me in that place? He might’ve changed, but your dad was never cold. Still, I refused. Living with you would’ve reminded me of what happened to my family.”
I didn't reply, so my old friend prodded the beast. “Aren’t we going to talk about–”
“– Why did my brother message you?” I interrupted, avoiding the topic.
Leon twitched his lips uncertainly, as if unwilling to part them.
“He told me that I had to see you…” Leon trailed off.
“Right,” I said. “Why?”
“Your brother said something insane, Jillian,” He said. “He claimed that Arnold Walker visited him in Fairbanks.”
My jaw fell. “I beg your pardon? Arnold Walker? My brother’s school friend?”
Leon nodded.
“He escaped? I didn't know others got out,” I whispered.
My old friend’s face was growing paler. “No, I... Your brother said something that seemed impossible. He said that Arnold did not arrive on his doorstep as a thirty-six-year-old man, but a ten-year-old child.”
My stomach dropped. The natural response would’ve been to discredit such an outlandish story, refuting it with a rational explanation. But Leon’s revelation served to do only one thing. It confirmed what I’d always known.
“A ten-year-old boy made it all the way from our hometown to Fairbanks?” I asked meekly.
Leon frowned. “That’s it? You’re not going to question it? I did. I messaged Alan repeatedly, but he never replied.”
“Not a nice feeling, is it?” I asked, sighing. “How did you want me to react, Leon? You were itching to talk about that day. Well, I’m not skirting around the subject now. Let’s talk about it. Okay? I know all of that horror really happened. I’d just never wanted anyone to confirm it.”
“Me neither,” Leon said. “I was trying to avoid your family for the rest of my life. Your brother ruined that.”
“Yeah. He tends to ruin things,” I replied. “So, that’s it? Alan wanted you to tell me about Arnold Walker?”
Leon shivered. “There’s more, but… Look, I know I should’ve messaged you about all of this first, but I thought about the way Alan avoided my questions. I didn’t want you to do the same. I assumed if I were to show up in person, then–”
“– I wouldn’t be able to run away,” I finished. “I understand, Leon. I just hate that my brother is still too childish to talk to me.”
“Funny. He called you childish too. Listening to you two bicker is nostalgic,” Leon smiled, before quickly adopting a solemn expression. “I’m trying to change the subject, but I need to rip off the band-aid. Alan said that Arnold took him to a car on the front lawn. There was a man in the driver’s seat, barely clinging to life, with a face mangled beyond recognition. Your brother said the man’s skin had been peeled from his face… And he was still, somehow, alive.”
I shuddered, vomit climbing my throat.
“Arnold told your brother that the man was Mr Johnson,” Leon whispered.
“The farmer? The one who ran the local grocery store?” I asked, shivering.
My friend nodded. “Yeah. Alan said he’d aged a little. Well, his hair was greyer than he remembered. The pair must’ve been on the road for hours, and your brother didn’t know how they knew where to find him. He had so many questions for them, but Mr Johnson died before the ambulance arrived. And whilst Alan talked to the paramedics, Arnold ran away. He’s missing.”
“Shit…” I whispered. “I’ll call my brother.”
“You might struggle,” Leon said. “Alan ended the message by saying that he was going back… home.”
I gawped. “No. He wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“Maybe not. You should try to contact him,” Leon said. “He hasn’t replied to my dozens of messages, but he might reply to you. Not sure he even has a signal, out there in the boonies, but you’re right. You should try.”
I spent an hour trying to contact my brother, in various ways, but he did not respond. Alan had vanished. And I knew, like it or not, that I had to return to our village too. I should’ve told Dad. Would've told him, had he not been one bad day away from a heart attack. In spite of the man he’d become, I loved him. I didn’t want to remind him of the place we’d fled.
One person should be spared the horror of remembering, I thought.
Leon and I, two strangers who’d spent formative years together, piled into my Kia, and we drove from Anchorage to a place that I’d long hoped had never really existed.
I was going to be horribly disappointed.
On a nondescript road that burrowed into the Alaskan wilderness, my throat started to twist and constrict. The outer edge of my vision shrank, and my head pulsated with a slowing rhythm as the world slipped away from me. I struggled to breathe as I came to terms with an awful fact.
I recognised that endless road.
“Jillian…” Leon whispered.
“Don’t,” I begged.
I didn’t want to hear it. I wasn’t ready. I’d known all along, of course, that our village existed. Even when extensive research had revealed nothing about the town. When I thought of the way the breeze consumed the town, erasing its residents, it made sense that it would erase the very place itself. After all, even I’d started to doubt its existence, and I’d lived there.
Accepting the unearthly nature of the event wasn’t as tough as you might imagine. If anything, I had fought hard to deny it. I wanted to ignore the existence of a paranormal force, though I had witnessed it with my own eyes. Even if there were some Alaskan breeze powerful enough to instantaneously freeze an entire town, we hadn’t witnessed that. We’d seen something else. We’d seen that glacial wind freeze the town. Not its people, but its tether to time.
After an hour of following the frosted landscape, we saw something familiar on the horizon. Leon’s face mirrored mine as our damned village appeared. A bulge of ruin and decay, growing as we neared it. And when we crossed the threshold into the desolate town, the reality of our quest finally dawned on me.
“Where is everybody?” Leon asked.
It might seem a moronic question to an outsider. Our old village was clearly an abandoned place. No rational person would expect anybody else to be there. Of course, I understood Leon. He had asked the same terrifying question that was circling the drain of my mind, refusing to flush away.
I thought back to that terrible day on which hundreds of people froze in time. Then I thought of Arnold Walker and Mr Johnson. The two residents who’d supposedly shown up at my brother’s door. One of them had looked no older than he’d been in 1998.
“Time resumed,” I finally mumbled.
“Yes, but where did everybody go?” My childhood friend asked.
I didn’t have an answer. Neither did my brother, and that was why he’d come here.
That’s not the real reason, I thought. He was hoping to find… her.
I rolled onto my old street, noting that the trees swayed in the wind and birds flew overhead. Signs that time was flowing. I wondered whether others had fled in the same fashion as Arnold and Mr Johnson. I even allowed my heart to soar a little as I considered that my mother might have freed herself. Might have found Dad in Anchorage. Might be wondering where Alan and I had gone.
However, I knew that not to be the case. Mum had not arrived at my door, and there had been no national news coverage about people emerging from a town that didn’t exist. There had only been an old, half-butchered man and a quiet boy. Both were gone. And I had questions about the nature of their escape from our hometown, given my brother’s ominous message to Leon.
Something was still dreadfully wrong with our village. Twenty-six years had not changed that. The people of the village had not disappeared into the sunset. Whatever had happened to them, I knew it wasn’t good. Possibly worse than what happened to Arnold Walker and Mr Johnson.
I pulled onto the driveway of my childhood home, gently trundling over cracked asphalt. Weeds squirmed through the wounds of the suburb, as nature sought to erase my childhood from existence. There was no need for that, of course. The wind of 1998, and whatever secrets it held, had already done a fine job of wiping my hometown from reality.
“Do you think he’s come here?” Leon asked as I turned off the engine.
“Yes. We both know who he wanted to find,” I said.
My childhood friend nodded, and we both sombrely climbed out of the vehicle.
The village was colder than I remembered. For a mid-afternoon day in late May, it was unseasonably chilly. Alaska, for the most part, is not the arctic hellscape that many people imagine. Not in all parts of the state, anyhow, and certainly not in late spring. The air also felt stale. It carried the stench of evil, and it seemed to be tinged with frost. As if that demonic breeze were still lingering in the air, nearly three decades later.
I knocked on the rotten front door, surprised that it did not break with a slight rap of my hand.
“Alan?” I yelled. “It’s Jillian.”
My brother did not respond, but I wasn’t concerned. If he had been there, and Mum hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have wanted to stay. I wanted to use that as an excuse to turn around and leave. I already assumed that my mother wouldn’t be there, but another part of me knew that my assumption was more of a wish. In a similar way, I had been secretly glad to find nobody in the town. There was only one person I hoped to find in my old village, and that was Alan.
I was terrified by the prospect of finding anything else.
“Jill…” Leon started softly. “Come on. We have to do it.”
“Do we?” I asked. “This was a mistake. We should turn around. We–”
“– I agree,” Leon sharply interjected. “But we have to find your brother. And when we do, we’ll convince him to come back with us. We’ll convince him to leave this place behind too.”
“Why did you come to see me, Leon?” I asked. “You could’ve ignored my brother’s message. You could’ve pretended none of this had ever happened. That’s what you did when you started ignoring my letters, isn’t it?”
“I deeply regretted that for years, Jill,” He said softly. “You were my best friend. You were… more than that. We were just kids, but I loved you. I’ve not made another connection like ours. Not even in my adult life.”
“I know,” I replied. “I loved you too, Leon. That’s why it hurt when you let our bond peter out. If you’d cut me off from the start, I would’ve understood. But it just felt like you’d stopped caring.”
“Never. I just lost the strength to bear that trauma,” He explained. “Every letter was a reminder, and I just… That’s why I came to your door. That’s why I didn’t ignore what your brother said. I didn’t want something to happen to him. You lost your mother. I didn’t want you to lose him too.”
“We all lost things,” I sniffled. “You lost… more than me. I just don’t understand why you’d come back. Why my brother would come back. I don’t even understand why I’ve come back.”
“We never really left this place, did we?” Leon asked. “Not in our minds. Even though it doesn’t exist in the eyes of the outside world, it never left us. Never let go. Arnold Walker and Mr Johnson lured Alan back. And he lured us back.”
“That’s an unsettling way of looking at it,” I timidly replied.
“It’s the only way I’ve been able to look at it,” He said. “Whatever claimed this place, it remembered us, and it made sure we remembered it. Not that it would be easy to forget… For years, I thought I’d lost my mind, but after talking to you and Alan, I’m not so sure. I find it hard to believe that we’d have experienced a shared delusion. No, it all really happened. And the memory replays in my mind every day. I’ll never get rid of it.”
“Dad seemed to do a good job of erasing this place from his mind,” I said.
I knew that wasn’t true, of course. He had never forgotten. That was made apparent by his deterioration. Alan and I had a close relationship with our father before we left that village. Afterwards, he changed. We all changed. Losing Mum had fractured the family, but there was more to it than that. I started to consider that Leon might be right. Perhaps the frost hadn’t ensnared the two of us, but it had certainly bitten us.
“Do you want me to do it?” Leon eventually asked.
I wanted to be courageous enough to open the door, but I wasn’t. I nodded meekly and stepped aside, allowing my childhood friend the nightmarish task of facing whatever lay within my old home. He pushed the door handle down, expecting the house to be unlocked, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Shall we try the back?” I asked.
Leon backed up. I quickly realised what he was planning to do, and I opened my mouth to utter a protest. My hulking friend had charged before I spoke a single word, however, and he hurled his body into the door. It quivered in its frame, but did not give.
“Leon!” I cried. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I don’t suppose you have the key?” He panted, massaging his shoulder.
I held up my hands. “Look, let’s just…”
My friend rushed forwards again, and the result was the same. This time, however, Leon released a groan of pain, clutching his arm a little more tightly.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I said. “Let’s take it in turns to kick the door. That'll work better, and it won’t cripple either of us.”
Leon nodded, and the two of us firmly booted the door near the handle. The wood quaked, and it only took a few attacks for the door to splinter around the lock. The frame splayed inwards, and the metal mechanism fell loose.
“Whoops… That worked a little too well,” Leon laughed.
He led the way into my childhood home, which looked, unlike the street outside, the same as I remembered. The same as it had looked on the day I’d left. There were no shoes left by the door. No muddy prints on the carpet. No indication whatsoever that my brother had visited our old home, which I’d gathered when the front door had been locked. But this was not a relief. I knew, in my gut, that Alan would’ve gone there first.
He never made it home.
Leon shivered. “This place feels cold…”
“Frozen,” I corrected. “Frozen in time.”
“Is it safe for us to be here?” He asked. “What if we end up like the others?”
“It’s a bit late to ask that now,” I replied. “The breeze passed long ago. This just seems to be the horror it left behind.”
Leon accepted my suggestion, then he wandered over to the staircase. My friend took one step before halting in place. For a haunting moment, I believed that he had been frozen in time too. I believed that I’d been wrong, and the frost had come for us. But I quickly realised that my friend was still moving. Still twitching. He was frozen by fear, not a supernatural gale.
“There’s someone in the bathroom…” Leon wheezed.
With physical dread in every inch of my body, I joined my friend and looked up. Artificial light spilled beneath the bathroom door onto the dark landing.
“There might not be anyone in there,” I shakily said.
“Jillian, this is an abandoned town. There is no electricity. Your house is still frozen in time, and it froze with the bathroom light left on. Somebody must have been–”
“– Don’t say it,” I pleaded, upper lip trembling.
“Do you want me to lead the way?” He asked.
I didn’t. I wanted to run, but I knew I would never forgive myself for doing so. Leon was right, of course. I hadn’t allowed him to finish his sentence, but it was clear that he was going to mention somebody in particular. Somebody whose face flooded my mind as we ascended the staircase, one tentative step at a time. Somebody whose name started to tickle my lips as Leon grasped the handle to the door.
It wasn’t locked.
“Mum?” I moaned as Leon inched it open.
My ageless mother was inside.
I’m sure I would’ve screamed at whatever we found, but I was not prepared for the state of the statue before me. Mum was standing at the sink, hands cupped below a stream of tap water suspended in time. As I had always feared, the frost caught her. It was horrifying enough to be frozen in time for twenty-six years, whilst the rest of the world continued, but that wasn’t why I screamed. I’d braced myself for that possibility. I’d spent my entire adult life coming to terms with it.
I screamed because I wasn’t prepared to see her face.
Mum was smiling. Not a wholesome smile. It was a taut grin that etched an unnerving crescent shape across her cheeks. There was nothing unnatural about the grin, but it looked painful. And it appeared as if cataracts had taken the entirety of her pupils.
“Mum?” I asked weakly. “Do you hear me?”
There was no reply. I peered around the side of her face, and I immediately regretted it. Though she was frozen in time, she did not look unaware. I felt her sightless eyes boring into my face, and I quickly jumped backwards.
“Let’s go and find your brother,” Leon fearfully said.
As I nodded, backing towards the doorway, I locked my gaze onto my mother’s profile. My heart pounded as I started to close the bathroom door. I was trying to ignore the idea that had wormed into my mind. The possibility that, behind the glassy cataract, a pupil might still exist. Lying dormant. Watching me from a face that no longer seemed to belong to my mother.
After I shut the door, Leon and I took a few moments to control our breathing. With a slight tremble, my friend finally walked over to the light switch and raised a hand, but I caught his wrist.
“What are you doing?” He frowned.
“Leave the light on,” I whispered. “I… don’t like the idea of leaving her in the dark.”
My friend’s expression softened, and he nodded, seeming to understand my explanation. Seeming to empathise. But I was lying. I wasn’t worried about leaving my mother in the dark. I was worried about the thing behind that smiling face.
“Alan didn’t come here,” I said. “Did he really come back?”
“You read the message, Jillian,” Leon replied.
“I know, but…” I sighed. “I know.”
“He might not have come to the house,” My friend suggested.
“This is the first place he would’ve visited,” I said. “If Mum weren’t here, he wouldn’t have returned.”
“Well, let’s look around,” Leon urged. “You never know. We might find something else. Something to help your mother, perhaps.”
“You saw her face,” I whispered. “She looked far past help.”
“Don’t say that, Jillian!” Leon shouted, eyes watering.
You idiot, I thought.
I was so self-centred. So focused on finding my brother and my mother. I hadn’t thought about Leon’s parents. His brother, Carl. People we’d left behind when my father saved us. I remembered Leon sobbing as he begged my father to turn around.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We need to find your family too.”
Leon viciously shook his head. “Only if we find an answer, Jill. Only if we find a way to save them.”
My friend entered my childhood bedroom, and I followed him. I imagine that visiting one’s childhood home is a strange experience for anyone, but strangeness morphs into horror when that home is trapped in a moment of time. I felt physically unwell when I saw the glass of water on the bedside table, fresh as it had been on the day that my dad took us to the park. Life had continued for me, but the town was still trapped in that dreadful, inexplicable day.
“Jillian,” Leon said calmly. “There are people outside.”
He was standing in front of my bedroom window, and when I joined him, eyeing the road below, I saw them. A man and a woman who seemed to be in their mid-forties. The man wore ill-fitting clothes. A chequered shirt two sizes too small, and a pair of torn jeans. The woman, on the other hand, wore a pristine, shapely dress with a floral pattern. She looked oddly familiar, though her eyes were jittery and unfocused. It was the man who’d locked his eyes onto our house.
“I… vaguely recognise her,” Leon said.
I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know her name, but I remember her. She looks a tad older, perhaps. I don’t know the man though.”
“You stay here,” Leon said, reaching inside his coat. “Don’t come out.”
“What are you holding?” I frowned, noting his shiftiness.
“Just…” Leon concealed his hand within the thick, wintry coat. “Are you going to stay in here?”
My eyes grew as I spotted a glint of metal. “You don’t… No, Leon. Please. Don’t tell me you have what I think you have.”
“We had no idea what we were going to find here,” The man protested.
I scoffed. “Leon Taylor? Carrying a gun? The boy who berated me for killing me a spider.”
Before he replied, there came the sound of the front door swinging open. And when we spun our heads back to the bedroom window, we saw that the man and woman were no longer on the street. I realised they were inside.
“Hello?” Called a man from downstairs. “We mean you no harm.”
“I have a weapon,” Leon yelled, slipping the pistol out of a hidden holster.
“Don’t shoot… It’s Bernie Bradley…” The man shouted weakly.
My mouth gaped. Bernie Bradley was in my brother’s school year. I remembered him. And as I recalled the face of the man I’d seen on the street, I didn’t find it hard to believe it had been the face of that same boy, twenty-six years into the future.
“What do you want?” I yelled.
“To help you,” He replied. “Before they come.”
“Who?” Leon asked.
“I’ll tell you if you put that weapon away,” Bernie said.
“I don’t trust you enough for that,” My friend growled.
“Are you Leon Taylor?” The man asked.
“Why?” Leon responded.
“Sydney Manley pushed you off the swing set, and you called her a fat cow,” Bernie said. “She ran home in tears.”
It wasn’t enough. In a place like that, which defied all laws of rationality, it wasn’t enough for Bernie Bradley to know that. But Leon and I needed it to be enough because we were hopelessly alone. Hopelessly afraid. And hopelessly desperate.
My friend re-holstered his weapon, and we walked onto the landing. Bernie and the woman were midway up the stairs. The man’s hands were raised, but the woman barely seemed aware of where they were. Barely seemed aware of herself.
“Leon Taylor and Jillian Maynard. Is that right?” Bernie asked.
“How did you recognise us?” I asked.
“You were the only ones who escaped,” He replied. “The Maynards and Leon Taylor.”
“The only ones?” Leon asked incredulously.
Bernie nodded. “Others tried, but the frost got them.”
“So, why aren’t you…” I started, unable to finish.
“Mind if we sit down before I answer that?” He asked.
I looked at Leon, and my friend begrudgingly nodded. We all headed to the living room and sat down. Once we did, Bernie Bradley told us an incredible story, and the woman beside him simply rocked on the sofa, face painted with a disturbing smile.
Bernie had been a ten-year-old boy, sitting at his bedroom desk, when the chill swept through his room. He told us that he remembered nothing but a black void. He might’ve been there for an eternity, or it might’ve been less than a moment.
When he woke from that dark slumber, still a ten-year-old boy sitting in the desk chair, Bernie looked out of the bedroom window. He was overcome by the horrible feeling that time had been lost, but he didn’t know how much. And when he saw residents frozen in the street, he realised that something awful had happened. Bernie found his own paused parents in the kitchen, and they were completely unresponsive to his pleas.
The lonely, frightened boy ran through the town, calling for help. Nobody answered. After a long day of searching, he returned to his house in tears. For a week, Bernie lived on cans of food from the cupboards. And then he heard shouting from the street.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” A man called.
Bernie ran outside to find Mr Johnson. The farmer had just woken from ‘a darkness’ to find the town full of statues. Bernie told Mr Johnson that he’d been alone for a week, but he had no idea how long he’d been frozen before that. The boy wanted to leave, but the farmer said they had to save as many people as possible. They had a duty to do so. After all, neither the farmer nor the boy knew what might happen to them if they were to run. The frost might return.
Anyway, Mr Johnson took Bernie under his wing. The crops in his field, thankfully, had unfrozen, as had his entire farmhouse. Mr Johnson fed Bernie, and the two of them survived. A week later, they found Elizabeth Coulter, the local headteacher, wandering through the town. Over the course of the following year, a dozen more unfrozen souls were saved and brought back to Mr Johnson’s farm.
But things changed as time passed. The newer thawed souls were unhinged. The longer a person had been trapped in that black stasis, the less human they became. They were still intelligible, but they spoke only of the voice in the void. A voice that they missed in the land of the living. They were irritable, but Mr Johnson cared for them, all the same. Eventually, they fled.
This only worsened as the years went by. After a decade, Bernie’s mother and father unfroze. However, his dad ran, and his mum only remained because she was lost and confused. She would rant and rave about the Speaker. The one that would make everything better. The one that would make them all eternal.
It was during the year of 2018 that things crossed a terrifying line. Mr Johnson had decided that newcomers were not welcome. It was a decision of necessity, not cruelty. The recently unfrozen folk had become more than unintelligible. They had become dangerous.
“Hark! The Speaker calls!” Walter Frankton screamed.
The middle-aged man, who had once been a police officer, was standing outside Mr Johnson’s farmhouse. When the community of sane people emerged, they screeched at the sight of Walter holding a charred body above his head. Nobody identified the burnt corpse, but Mr Johnson wasted no time in drawing his rifle and giving Mr Frankton ten seconds to flee.
Bernie explained that Walter laughed demonically, before disappearing into the night. Over the coming years, bodies were found in the street. Followers of the Speaker would relentlessly pursue Mr Johnson’s community, so the sane folk kept distant from the people of the Speaker. Few of Mr Johnson’s followers understood why they stayed, yet nobody felt able to leave. Something was keeping them there.
A couple of weeks before Leon and I arrived, however, Bernie said that Mr Johnson finally announced his plan to leave. There were murmurs of uncertainty. Everybody wanted to escape, of course, but fear had always stopped them. Still, they trusted Mr Johnson. If anybody had the power to safely lead them away from the place controlling their minds, it had to be the brave farmer. Packing and preparations began.
However, some days later, Bernie Bradley happened to look out of an upstairs window and notice Mr Johnson. The old man was wandering aimlessly onto the driveway, stumbling like a drunken man towards his vehicle. Bernie said there was a small child standing beside the car. The young boy led Mr Johnson to the driver’s door with a smile, and the two of them fled.
Things disintegrated after that. When a Molotov cocktail found its way through a window, the community dispersed. The sane folk fled in different directions, and Bernie was left alone with his mother.
“We’ve been running for days,” Bernie explained. “I keep finding the bodies of people from my community. Charred corpses in the street. I tried to leave this town, but it wouldn’t let me. The farther I drove, the sharper the pang in my heart. I knew I'd die if I were to keep going.”
“How did you find us?” Leon asked.
“I heard you,” Bernie replied. “Hard to miss the sound of an engine in a dead place like this. I had a hunch that it might be you.”
“You must've heard my brother then?” I asked hopefully.
Bernie frowned. “Alan's here? That might explain the raucous a few days ago… I don’t know what I heard. Noise. Lots of it... You won't find him, Jill. You have to run whilst it still lets you. The frost might be gone, but… something lingers.”
“The Speaker?” Leon asked.
Bernie nodded. “I was fortunate enough to never hear it. Or never remember hearing it. I don't know what it said to them. My mother won't tell me.”
Bernie looked at the woman next to him. The one who appeared to be the same age as him, though I realised he was still a decade younger. The horror of our town had aged him beyond his years.
“It will be so glorious…” Bernie’s mother giggled, eyes bearing faint pupils behind mild cataracts.
“You’re lucky that they didn’t see you arrive,” Bernie said. “Otherwise, you’d be dead already. But they’ll come. Sooner or later. And you need to listen to me if you want a safe way out of here. Okay? We need to distract them. Keep them off your backs.”
I shook my head. “I need to find my brother. I know he came to this town. I thought I'd find him in our home, but–”
“– Walter wanted him,” Bernie’s mother hissed.
The woman stopped rocking. Stopped smiling. And her head snapped to face me with such eerie speed that I thought it might entirely disconnect from her neck. Bernie quivered, seemingly just as horrified by his mother’s words as the rest of us.
“Mother…?” He asked.
“Walter wanted him. Walter wanted him. Walter wanted him!” The woman laughed, taunting me.
“What does she mean?” I sobbed. “Does Walter Frankton have my brother?”
Bernie’s face whitened. “If he does, your brother's either been flayed or charred.”
“Christ, Bernie,” Leon replied.
I sniffled. “I won’t leave until I know.”
“He’s already dead,” Bernie bluntly said.
“We don’t know that!” I cried.
I thought the others were sitting in stunned silence because I’d spoken so assertively. However, as I calmed my breathing, and the throbbing sensation in my ears quietened, I heard it too. The sound of laughing voices. Bernie’s mother strained to smile broadly. She looked as pained as my mother, but grateful for the privilege of the discomfort.
“You don't want to see this. We'll head through the back. Do not look at the street...” Bernie hoarsely pleaded as I rose.
But I was already running to the door.
I flung it open and started to run down the path, with Leon and Bernie in tow. Then, my eyes met the mob spilling beyond the end of the street. The crowd easily numbered a hundred people, and each face wore a terrible smile. Eyes glassy, yet all-seeing.
There was a man shuffling from the crowd towards me, like a terrified toddler taking its first steps. I tried to blot his face from my mind. I didn’t want to see it, though it was too late for that. I’d seen everything the moment I faced the crowd. Eventually, I fell to my knees and howled as I embraced the truth.
The shuffling man, who had been flayed alive, was my brother.
Alan reached towards me with an outstretched hand, weakly shouting something, before toppling forwards. He was reduced to a motionless heap on the road.
“Jill!” Leon cried again, rushing to me. “We have to go!”
I continued to wail as the gleeful crowd surged forwards. I resisted Leon, but he easily hauled my limp body to the car and bundled me into the back.
“He needs help...” I blubbered.
“He’s gone, Jill,” Leon whispered.
“What about your family?” I asked.
“They’re all gone...” He sniffled, stepping on the accelerator.
Staring through the rear-view window, I watched the crowd approach my old home. Bernie stood on the front porch, and his mother had her hands on his shoulders. The man did not run. As we pulled off the driveway, it almost seemed as if he, too, finally had a smile on his face. The mob swarmed Bernie, and I heard a brief cry of agony. It may have been ecstatic or fearful. It may have been both.
After we crossed the border, no chill pierced us. We were free to leave. But I know Leon and I belong to that town. I have always suspected that the wind grazed its teeth against my skin when I was a child. It grazed all of us. For, even now, I still feel that link. That urge to return to the salivating mob with a smile on my face.
When I returned home to find that my father was missing, I knew he felt it too.

Last month I had some financial trouble and could not pay my rent on time. My landlord reported me to a debt collector. I paid the rent as soon as I received my next paycheck so everything is settled now but I have heard of the credit blacklist and how your name stays on it for 5 years for delinquent payments even after they are paid.
I was planning to downsize and get a cheaper place in a few months time once my current lease ends but now I am worried that my name is on the credit blacklist which will make it hard for me to get another apartment. Has anyone experienced this? Will I be blocked from renting other places because of this?

Can anyone share a sample TN letter and any checklist that we need to include as part of the package.
My employer asked me to create my own support letter and they are happy to help with any information from their side.
I have an offer as Manager Business Intelligence but there is SOC code only for business intelligence analyst.
I have a Masters degree in Management information Systems from University of South Florida.
Can i apply under this category because I don’t see any other manger roles that suit my work responsibilities.
Also, my office is in Washington DC and I live in Surrey, BC close to peace arch border.
Can I do flag polling for TN via peace arch land border and come back to canada? So that I will have some time to pack my stuff.
Also, any sequence in which the documents needs to be presented in the package. Just wanted to be sure as I am doing it by myself.
Any help is much appreciated.
Regards, Siva Ram

Hello,
I am 26F and I weigh 66kg. My length is 1.70m. I am not pregnant and I don’t use contraceptives. I am currently not on my period. I wasn’t on my period when the GP did the tests.
Two months ago I got some really painful tummy aches. They checked my ovaries and uterus with a vaginal echo and everything looked good.
The GP checked my blood with a CRP test by inserting a tiny needle in my fingertip and testing the blood. She did this multiple times during the week and the test showed no elevation/no signs anything was wrong.
Then my GP asked me for a stool sample so she could check for calprotectine levels. I was told that calprotectine levels should be between 50 and 70, and mine was 225. She also took another stool sample which can show if there’s blood in my stool and I don’t have the results of that test yet, but I’m quite sure there will be blood because every time I have to poop there’s a lot of blood in the toilet.
Here’s the part where it gets confusing (at least, for me). Because of the calprotectine test it’s likely that I have Chrohn’s disease or Colitus Ulcerosa. But I have been showing signs of anemia since the tummy aches started two months ago. I get very dizzy, I faint almost daily and I feel very weak and sick.
I was wondering, is it possible I have anemia because of Chrohns or Colitus Ulcerosa? And if I do, is it urgent or is it okay to wait one more month until I see my doctor in the hospital for the first time (this doctor is going to diagnose me and will treat me, but he’s pretty busy).
Also, I think it’s really weird that the CRP test showed no elevation but the calprotectine test was very high. Is there any way that can be explained?
I am on the current medication: - Lithium 800mg - Clomipramine 175mg - Paracetamol when I’m in pain - Tramadol 100mg when I’m in terrible pain and paracetamol doesn’t helpt anymore.
Thanks a lot for reading and replying.

My dad received a letter from a property debt collector indicating that the debt notice had been forwarded to the court. My dad's English is not good, and with my uncle's help, he purchased this retirement property in November 2022. He was paying the service charge to the block management company but was unaware of an additional service charge owed to a different company.
Initial Service Charge:

• Service charge for the period 1 Feb 2023 – 31 Jan 2024: £389.58
• Reserve fund for the period 1 Feb 2023 – 31 Jan 2024: £16.67

Since my father didn't pay the initial service charge, on Friday, 09/05/2024, he received a letter from the county court money claims center stating that the total debt had increased to £1,783.25. My dad was unaware of this company and didn't update his forwarding address, so he didn't open the letter until May 28th.
New Debt: View debt details
I contacted the property debt collectors' legal team to explain our situation. However, since we didn't make the payment within 14 days of the notice, the debt has increased to £1,805.25, and the property debt collectors have already requested a judgment from the court.
We acknowledge that not paying the service charges was our responsibility. However, there's an issue we’re struggling with. The letter we received included a "Letter of Claim Pursuant to The Pre-Action Protocol for Debt Claims" dated March 21, 2024, with arrears of £898.25. This was the first time we had seen this letter, and it was attached to the county court money claims letter. Had we received this letter earlier, we would have made the payment.
When I called the property debt collectors, I asked for proof that the letter had been sent on March 21, 2024, but they stated they only send letters via first class without tracking or requiring a signature.
At this point, is there anything we can do? We definitely did not receive any letters on March 21st, but I'm unsure if hiring a legal team to dispute this is worthwhile.

Hello everyone, this is going to be a long one so please bare with me as I need some help and I feel as if I am going crazy. This has all been depressing for me and I am scared that I am not going to get better, I am so young and I hate being in pain. Although, I know i should not put this into the universe, the thought of this being life long makes me sad.**
In December of 2023, I began having very bad pain while urinating, discharge....I suspected a UTI. However, I tested positive for Chlamydia(even though my partner at the time said he was negative.). I got treated, retested and everything came back negative. However, I was still experiencing burning while peeing, vaginal discharge, and etc. I went to the gyno for the first time, around the middle of January and explained my symptoms to her. She said that she saw some yeast while doing the exam and treated me for such. I got tested for the regular STI's and did a vaginal swab. The medicine she gave me did not help much and all my results came back negative. Going into February, my friend passed and I went into a dark place. I stopped caring for my health and I didn't revisit the gyno(although experiencing pain while urinating, itching, discharge; etc) up until March. March comes around, I am still struggling with everything and I visit the Gyno again with the same symptoms. She tested me for Mycoplasma/Ureaplasma and gave me cream to deal with the itching. My results come back and I was in fact positive for Mycoplasma. I am not sure what medicine she put me on, but I remember it was a 7 day antibiotic.
I took it, felt a little better, but a week later the same symptoms started to return. At the end of March/beginning of April, I had a burning sensation while peeing, I began having sharp pain in my pelvis, hip/leg pain, on and off discharge(somedays it would be brownish, next it would be a very clear heavy discharge), and lower back pain. I returned to same gyno and she thought it was a UTI. She took a urine sample and did a swab(however, i don't believe she retested me for mycoplasma). She gave me a three day antibiotic and it worked. The pain while peeing went away and the cramping subsided. However, the results came back and everything came back negative. But, in my urine my white and red blood cells were high. She told me to go to my PCP because she believed it wasn't a gyno related issue anymore. By that time I was experiencing very bad pain in my chest and back. I ended up going to the ER because I believed I had a kidney issue. I did a CAT Scan, but everything came back fine. The doctor told me it was a muscoskeltal issue and prescribed naproxen to me. Also, it came back that I had a yeast infection. I explained the cramping and such to the doctor and she said I did have a UTI, the test just didn't detect it. I asked her if the cramping was due to the muscoskeltal issue and she said it could be... I went home, took Fluconazole(singular) and began using the Naproxen.
I am a college student and I dorm, so I constantly have to travel back and forth to attend these doctor appointments. I return back to school and my pain subsides in my chest area, but the naproxen did not help the cramping. I still was having pain while peeing. I return back home to see my PCP, and she did a vaginal exam and said she saw yeast again. She told me the cramping was just due to my period(just no). She prescribed Fluconazole and a insertion for the yeast infection. I told her to run every test she can and the only thing that came up was a little bacteria in my urine(she told me this 7 days after I went to her). I told her I am still having pain while urinating and so she gave me a 7 day medication(take two a day), I forget the name. I was taking both that medicine she gave me and the naproxen, but, I ended up stop taking the naproxen because I experienced really bad stomach problems one day and I believed that it cause my period to be almost late(6 days, my period is usually on time and comes between the 14th and 16th).
At this point I stop going to my PCP because of her response to what I am telling her. I make an appointment with a different gyno to address it. BY THIS TIME, I am having pain in my pelvis, abdomen, and lower back(moreso on my left side), and my hip. I am not peeing frequently, there is no discharge or very little, BUT when I PEE IT BURNS. I make an appointment. Before seeing my gyno, I do an ultrasound( my belly and vaginal) and everything is fine. I tell her all these symptoms, she swabs me for everything(including mycoplasma but those results were inconclusive because I was on my period, so i have to retake it), I ask her if it's possible if I have PID, she says I would be in more pain. She refers me to a urologist and gastroenterologist(my abdominal pain was concerning to her). I go to my urologist first(May 29th), she tells me that she believes that due to all the antibiotics I have been taking since December my urethra and stomach have not had time to heal(which I totally agree). She does a vaginal exam(looks fine). She brings up pelvic floor issues and does a fast exam on me, but it doesn't seem abnormal. However, she said its still a possibility. She basically tells me that she thinks I need to stay off antibiotics, use cranberry pills, and visiting the GI is a good idea. She also gave me a lubricant to apply down there just to see if it eases the pain. I have an call with her in two weeks to update her.
Two days after, I visit my GI. I do have constipation, burping, and such. He basically said I don't know what it is but, he prescribed me Pantoprazole to take before breakfast and suggested I use miralax. I also have a follow up call with him.
My results came back from my gyno that I have BV, she told me that it usually goes away on its own, but she will send an antibiotic just in case. Which worries me because of what the urologist said. I am still experiencing pain when I pee, pelvic pain, abdominal pain, pain on my left side, buttotcks pain, and lower back pain as of right now, the pain isn't excruciating, but its there. Sometimes it feels like stabbing in my back or my pelvic like just hurts. I do have some pain in my actual vaginal hole and sometimes it just hurts, kinda like I’m in my period, but I’m not. Also, when I sneeze my pelvic area hurtsss. It feels sore. I’m assuming it’s a pelvic floor issue but I’m not sure. I am going to ask my gyno to refer me to a urogynecologist to look into pelvic floor issues, but I am tired. I need some help, please. Also, how do you test for PID?

Hello, I am 24 and would consider myself relatively financially savvy. I have about $10k in emergency savings in a HYSA, and I just paid off two of my main sources of debt ($8k car loan, $5k medical expense). I've been contributing to a 401k for about a year. Right now I only contribute 4% and get a 1% match (company match is not great, this is the max). I think my 401k balance is around $4k. I plan on starting to contribute to a Roth IRA within the next month or two. I currently make $61k working in payroll.
Now that my main other sources of debt are paid off, most of my income is going to go to my student loans for the next year and a half or so - according to some bar napkin math, if I pay $400/week + some of annual bonuses, I should have them paid off by Jan 2026. I have ~$35k in student loan debt, and my net worth is about -$20k by my estimate.
What else can I be doing to save for my future and make sure I stay in the middle class? I try to not live above my means. My weekly paycheck is about $900 - $100 goes to emergency savings, $250 to rent and bills, $400 to various debts (credit card is almost paid off!), and I live off of the other $150. I've been following the flowchart for about a year now and I'm currently in Step 3, paying down debts. I can't think of any other relevant details that I have left out. Thanks in advance!

Hi all - this is my first post. Please let me know if I broke any rules.
Our PTA made custom lanyards + badge reels for the teachers and staff for Teacher Appreciation Week and they turned out even better than I thought they would. We got a lot of really positive feedback and I wanted to share the supplies and process and lessons learned in case anyone else wanted to do the same.
We set out order forms, samples and a bin of silicone beads in the teachers’ lounge and asked each person to customize their own. This worked out really well and helped us get the correct names for people since different teachers have different preferences.
Notes: We used a medium thick paracord (275) to make them feel substantial - but it was really difficult to get the cord through the beads. Especially because we put the swivel clasp on first and had to feed the ends of the cord through the beads. I didn’t want to attach the swivel or badge reel with a jump ring because I figured they would pry open with use. I wound up kind of making my own tool here- I cut a plastic stem/straw from a balloon stand kit, which was like a very very sturdy plastic straw, at a sharp angle and fed the ends of the paracord (usually wrapped in some tape to prevent fraying) through it and used the straw like a needle through the beads. I used some dish soap to lubricate it. It wasn’t so bad once we figured this out and got the hang of it. But don’t be a martyr like us: go with a thinner cord. If I do this again, I’ll use 95. It’s also easier if you thread the cord through like a needle: folded half first and attach the swivel clasp with a jump ring later.
We had a hard time with visible ridges in the Mod Podge matte finish at first before we thinned out the mixture 3 parts matte Mod Podge to 2 parts of the matte Mod Podge pump spray liquid. The mix gave a surprisingly even finish where ridges and brush strokes weren’t noticeable. Two coats on each side and edges.
We used hot glue at first to attach the wood name plates to the badge reels. Bad idea. The heat made the vinyl and mod podge bubble up and the bond wasn’t very strong anyway. E6000 was MUCH better.
I suggest using a sturdy font that doesn’t have really fine lines. We had issues with the longer names (thus, smaller font) on “e”, “t” and a couple other letters.
The ends of the lanyards are finished with a simple knot and we melted the ends with a lighter to prevent fraying and secure the knot a bit. Make sure you put opposite end-caps on first. I found that yanking on the clasps over the knot actually helped tighten it before we melted the edges.
Lastly- make sure to pick a lanyard length you like and account for how many beads are used (more beads means smaller head opening). I suggest giving yourself 38-40” for each lanyard to start since you can always shorten it when you finish off the ends.
Supplies:

• 275 paracord from Paracord Planet (NOTE: if I did this again, I’d use 95 paracord because the 275 was reaaallly difficult to get through the silicone beads)
  
• Clear 27x12mm breakaway clasps from Fire Mountain Gems and Beads: https://www.firemountaingems.com/C3336FN.html
  
• 2” natural unfinished wood craft discs from Amazon (60 pack, brand: Axe Sickle)
  
• Swivel key chain lobster clasps (about 31mm long) from Amazon.
  
• “5 Pack White Retractable Badge reels for lanyards Nurses Badge Holder Reel Retractable with Metal Ring Badge Reel for id Badge Reel Holder” from Amazon, seller AIWOQI.
  
• Cricut premium vinyl
  
• Custom mix of Matte Mod Podge (3 parts regular matte, 2 parts of the matte pump spray liquid to thin it out - apply with foam brush).
  
• E6000 adhesive
  
• Silicone beads from Amazon and Etsy
  

I met a psychiatrist today, and talked about how this innibaility to concentrate have basically ruined my life. I have lost contact with all of my friend, i’m unable to study with finals coming up, I haven’t been able to apply for jobs or go to interviews, i always feel dependent on peoples constant reminders and motivation to do basic things like not throwing my clothes on the floor or paying my rent, my constant sense of self hatred and disappointment, and so on and so forth. I have been in a dark place this year and i can’t seem to dig myself out of it and i think it has mainly to do with this.
His response was basically you have all the symptoms but you pass your exams, and you’re not in crippling debt so you are not qualified to be diagnosed or prescribed any medication. Sir i dont think i am going to be able to pass them anymore, thats why I’m here. Last time my friend had to draw diagrams and pictures in-order for me to keep my focus long enough to catch the concepts because i could not read a sentence from beginning to end without zoning out twice.
Is this normal? am i actually not qualified or should i seek help somewhere else? Did i underestimated the threshold for an ADHD diagnose? please be honest i dont know what to think or do.

Timing may not suit for you to have this situation but I was issued notice with my landlord that they are selling. Right now I’m paying €2,000 per month rent and I’ll need to spend more to get something even half decent in the current market. I earn €3200 per month so you can understand the figures. I understand this is personal but it’s leading into where I’m at. Since starting in January 2021 I’ve seen a €2,500 increase whilst going through record inflation and each year I’m taking a pay cut. We discussed commission at the start but I have never seen this. I’ve managed as best I can but 2024 has been challenging, having to pay for a work related injury on my credit card hasn’t helped and I need to figure out how I’ll pay for this because right now I am stretched as it is. I’ve dug deep and tried to make it work with what I have but now my family is going to suffer for my loyalty. Over the years, I’ve been contacted and propositioned with roles but I’ve stayed loyal to you, and really I wanted to see what we could actually do as a team and I enjoy being a part of a bigger vision. Last month I was contacted about a role related to media and marketing within XXXX, salary offered is 70K with benefits. also a pension, health insurance, yearly bonus etc. I said I wasn’t considering a move at this stage of my career. Which was half true but here I am 1 month on, with debt and the idea of spending more to secure my family. So this leaves me at a junction, I can hand the Baton over and we leave on good terms and I’ll do whatever I can to facilitate this. This decision is based on my family and their security, I love what I do and I enjoy the day to day of making it happen but this is the 2nd time since January I’ve been prospected and I can’t see how I’m going to move forward in my immediate situation. This is a separate industry, not in XXXX and there is no conflict, I will always speak highly of XXXX and I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished as a team. I wanted to speak with you before I do anything and should you be ok, I’ll hand in my notice in email,

A lot of these instances are BEC, but it’s all coming to a breaking point and I know that soon it’ll culminate into something huge because that’s just the type of person my MIL is.
My MIL and I always had a decent relationship pre pregnancies. She’s always been a bit overbearing and will say some questionable shit here and there, but she only really started showing her ass when I got pregnant for the first time in December. During that pregnancy she:
•announced to the family group chat immediately after we told her. Not even giving us the chance to tell her not to. Her exact words were “DH is having a baby! I’m going to be a grandmother!”
•always comparing our symptoms and experiences. I wasn’t nauseous or throwing up at all for my last pregnancy and she would always tell me “well eventually it’s going to hit you like it hit me and you’ll be miserable” like she was wishing I’d be sick or something.
•always insisting I’d have a girl knowing that myself and DH wished for a boy first because she never got her girl.
•offered to do the gender reveal, but only the cake that we wanted because she wanted to be the first to know the baby’s gender.
•didn’t help with anything while we were going through a big move, but wanted to do the fun stuff like paint the baby’s mural.
•her (literally) crazy friend offered to rent out one her homes to us, MIL set it up. We were all excited because it was a very nice house. We started moving stuff in. I unfortunately miscarried during this time and about a week later, while still grieving, her friend went insane, raised the rent on us BECAUSE our baby died, signed another renters agreement with some random dude while our stuff was still in her house, and told us to hit the road basically.
•after this, MIL still thought she could give input on where we live. lol no. Never again.
•the day I found out I miscarried, we went back home (were staying next door to her at the time) And the literal second we pulled up, she comes running out of her house (DH and she are NOT close like that at all. We lived next door and still tried to not see her every day) trying to make the miscarriage about her grief. At the time we were writing a goodbye letter to our dead baby, and DH told her to go the fuck away basically.
•I just found out recently that she took it upon herself to message everyone in the family to leave me alone and not bother me during the miscarriage because I “wasn’t in the right headspace.” So while I was spiraling mentally during the loneliest, darkest hour of my life thinking that nobody gave a fuck, it was actually my MIL inserting herself.
Well she chilled out for awhile and things seemed to level out… until I found out I was pregnant again in May…
•We didn’t tell everyone right away this time, we wanted to make sure we made it past the point we did last time. We were going to appointments in secrecy. During this time, DH stopped sharing his location with his mom for that reason. It always bothered me that he just let his mom have his location at almost 30, because she’d make comments when it was just the two of us like “I think DH forgot about his location being on (he didn’t, he just didn’t care enough to turn it off) promise you won’t tell him” but this gave him reason to turn it off. After we announced, she had the AUDACITY to ask me why his location wasn’t on. When I explained the very valid reason, she said, verbatim “Having his location, as a mother, is like an umbilical cord to me. I can’t eat or sleep if I can’t check and see that he’s okay.” Um. He goes to work and comes home. I have his location, if anything ever happens I’ll lyk. I told DH this and he admitted it was weird and agreed to not give it back to her and that when we go on vacation again (the reason it was on to begin with) he will share with his grandmother, but not with her.
•she tried to announce to the family again. DH, thankfully, intercepted and shut her down.
•she’s still doing her comparison bullshit. When she asked what my hope for a birth plan was, I told her I wanted to try an unmedicated birth. She said something along the lines of “just give it five minutes into labor and you’ll be begging for an epidural” followed by a long tangent about her “traumatic” (she tore, and not even badly, that was it) epidural birth.
•she wants to set up a nursery for our baby in her 2 bedroom house. 1) her house is and is always a mess. Trash everywhere, dishes in the sink, she doesn’t clean, doesn’t tidy 2) has 4 untrained animals running around the house pissing and shitting all over all of the floors. Including the cats. 3) the room she wants to set up for the baby is currently housing baby chickens and I don’t trust her cleaning ability enough to EVER get that mess out. 4) she’s always complaining about money and not having enough of it, wants to spend LOTS of money on shit for a baby nursery, and then will end up not helping us with Jack shit, I just know it 5) baby will NEVER spend enough time in her pigsty to need a nursery, I don’t even trust her to babysit.
•she’s been playing favorites with DH’s cousin’s baby already. Checks on them literally every day, calls, texts, whatever, and only checks on me and baby once a week, if even. This normally wouldn’t bother me because I don’t care to speak to her often, but it’s not about me. It’s about her literal biological grandchild that she is already deprioritizing, but wants to do all of this surface level shit for. I refuse to let my baby be a hip accessory on a Facebook post for her to get her little social media likes.
•the other day we were visiting DHs grandmother because family from out of town were here, cousin and her baby were there. When MIL walked in, she plopped on the ground and doted on the baby for a solid 5 minutes (they were at her house next door not even 10 minutes prior) before even acknowledging my presence or asking how I was feeling or how the baby was doing.
•after cousin and baby left, MIL mentioned that cousin conveniently wants to have her baby’s first birthday party on the same day we were planning my shower (the week of Halloween, I want a Halloween costume party themed shower) and that I have to compromise and pick a different day. She offered for me to do it three weeks before Halloween. Lol? No? That defeats the whole purpose. When I put my foot down she basically implied that she’d go to cousin’s baby’s birthday party and not her own grandchild’s shower, and that she wouldn’t help with anything (not like she would anyways).
Are the pregnancy hormones causing me to overreact?? This shit is rage inducing, no? DH is on my side completely. He’s had enough of his mom’s bullshit and is planning on having a conversation with her as soon as he can. She won’t be receptive, but I can’t deal anymore and neither can he.

So after over 2 years of a roller coaster of having fought to get her children back, The state has sent my girlfriend a letter stating they are putting her children up for adoption now. Just curious what steps can be taken to fight that and if a lawyer is worth getting at this point since all she has had is a court appointed representative.
The children were taken from her because of her abusive ex burning their house down and putting her in the hospital, her being a stay-at-home mom she had no home to go or job at the time.
Fast forward 2 plus years now she has a full-time job, pays her own rent without assistance, has had supervised visits in the start, got to unsupervised had them taken away because of dating me but has since gotten the unsupervised visits reinstated.
Not sure what to do at this point, any advice or direction in finding a lawyer would be fantastic. We are not financially solid and sound but can work out a payment plan

MURIEL BY AL BRUNO III
This Town is a cluster of homes and businesses that mark the point where the highway begins to stretch across the open desert. The Town is slowly fading, with the population growing older and dying off, leaving their homes and dreams behind. I live in a trailer park near the scrapyard that employs me.
The woman on the other side of the trailer park is a middle-aged widow living off her husband's pension. Still, the money she receives barely covers her rent. She lives on a fast food diet and reads tabloid magazines by candlelight. To make ends meet, she sells her body. Her name is Muriel, and I'm her last customer on the nights I can afford it. Our physical intimacies are just a ritual; she knows I'm there because I'll pay dearly for not having to wake up alone.
One night, it was too warm to sleep. We sat on the bed in the dark, smoking cigarettes and talking. I thought to myself how beautiful she looked as a shadow; her every feature softened. It was only when she inhaled her cigarette that the orange pinpoint of light revealed the toll time and her husband's cruelties had taken on her.
Somehow, the conversation turned to personal photographs, and she said, "No pictures. I burned all there was after my Mamma passed on, and I told Joe I didn't want any wedding photos either. I don't want anything to do with any of it. I don't like the way photographs look. It's not that I dislike how a picture makes me look. I know I ain't a beauty queen. I mean to say that I don't like how pictures look."
In my long-lost university days, I studied psychology, and this sounded like a case of paranoia. Still, the bitter experience taught me never to judge or be sure. "Why did you burn your mother's pictures of you?" I asked.
"By the time I was sixteen, I was staying out all night, drinking and screwing around. It didn't matter what time I came home, my Mamma was waiting up for me. She always knew who I was with and she always knew what I was up to. She would yell at me, but she always yelled at me, and sometimes she slapped and pushed. It was that way ever since I was twelve. I used to tell myself she was jealous because..." Muriel paused. I could hear how much she wanted me to believe what she said next, "...I was beautiful then."
"Go on."
"I was maybe twenty-one when the cancer took her. I started going through her things, deciding what to keep and what to give away or sell. I started to find photos of me, not in an album or a frame. They were just stashed all around," Muriel lit another cigarette and shook out the match, "all the photos I found of me were ruined. She marked them up with some kind of a pin."
"What did she do?" I put my hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away.
"She poked out the eyes. I didn't know why; I thought maybe she was crazy or she hated me more than I thought," Muriel explained, "I don't know what came over me, but I held one of those ruined pictures up to the light and stared through the holes. I saw something through them. I looked closer and held the picture right up to my face. The holes were like windows. I saw where I was when the picture was taken. It was the old playground off Sixteenth Street."
"How?" I asked.
If Muriel heard, she ignored me. "It was the same with every picture I found; they all showed me someplace I had been, but everything looked spent and tired. I searched and found more photographs I never knew she took, some really new. She hadn't gotten to a few of them. So I poked out my eyes. When I looked through the holes, I suddenly saw the past. It was like I had gone back in time, and I was four years younger and heading out of the house to raise a little Hell. I saw every minute of it, even the things I had been too drunk to remember before. It was like a memory but brighter."
I was shivering. I told Muriel she could stop now if she wanted to.
Annoyance crept into her voice, "I don't know how it works. Maybe I don't want to. But now I'll never know if she was just a shitty mom or if she treated me the way she did, so I would run wild to spite her. I'll never know if I was just a puppet."
"So you burned all the pictures," I said.
"Just in case someone ever wants to try and look through my eyes. My life may be shit but it's mine," she got out of bed and threw me my clothes, "get dressed, you can't stay here. Not tonight."
There was nothing else to say; I pulled on my pants and shirt and walked back to my trailer with my boots in my hand. The ground was cold and rough under my feet. I thought to myself of what Muriel's life had become, of what it might have been. Instead of going inside, I sat on my front steps, looked back to Muriel's trailer, and thought of all the glossy magazines she had strewn about every room. I wondered what I would find if I thumbed through one- would the pages be pristine, or would the eyes of choice celebrities be poked out?
But I never asked or looked for fear of having to spend all my nights alone.

MURIEL BY AL BRUNO III
This Town is a cluster of homes and businesses that mark the point where the highway begins to stretch across the open desert. The Town is slowly fading, with the population growing older and dying off, leaving their homes and dreams behind. I live in a trailer park near the scrapyard that employs me.
The woman on the other side of the trailer park is a middle-aged widow living off her husband's pension. Still, the money she receives barely covers her rent. She lives on a fast food diet and reads tabloid magazines by candlelight. To make ends meet, she sells her body. Her name is Muriel, and I'm her last customer on the nights I can afford it. Our physical intimacies are just a ritual; she knows I'm there because I'll pay dearly for not having to wake up alone.
One night, it was too warm to sleep. We sat on the bed in the dark, smoking cigarettes and talking. I thought to myself how beautiful she looked as a shadow; her every feature softened. It was only when she inhaled her cigarette that the orange pinpoint of light revealed the toll time and her husband's cruelties had taken on her.
Somehow, the conversation turned to personal photographs, and she said, "No pictures. I burned all there was after my Mamma passed on, and I told Joe I didn't want any wedding photos either. I don't want anything to do with any of it. I don't like the way photographs look. It's not that I dislike how a picture makes me look. I know I ain't a beauty queen. I mean to say that I don't like how pictures look."
In my long-lost university days, I studied psychology, and this sounded like a case of paranoia. Still, the bitter experience taught me never to judge or be sure. "Why did you burn your mother's pictures of you?" I asked.
"By the time I was sixteen, I was staying out all night, drinking and screwing around. It didn't matter what time I came home, my Mamma was waiting up for me. She always knew who I was with and she always knew what I was up to. She would yell at me, but she always yelled at me, and sometimes she slapped and pushed. It was that way ever since I was twelve. I used to tell myself she was jealous because..." Muriel paused. I could hear how much she wanted me to believe what she said next, "...I was beautiful then."
"Go on."
"I was maybe twenty-one when the cancer took her. I started going through her things, deciding what to keep and what to give away or sell. I started to find photos of me, not in an album or a frame. They were just stashed all around," Muriel lit another cigarette and shook out the match, "all the photos I found of me were ruined. She marked them up with some kind of a pin."
"What did she do?" I put my hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away.
"She poked out the eyes. I didn't know why; I thought maybe she was crazy or she hated me more than I thought," Muriel explained, "I don't know what came over me, but I held one of those ruined pictures up to the light and stared through the holes. I saw something through them. I looked closer and held the picture right up to my face. The holes were like windows. I saw where I was when the picture was taken. It was the old playground off Sixteenth Street."
"How?" I asked.
If Muriel heard, she ignored me. "It was the same with every picture I found; they all showed me someplace I had been, but everything looked spent and tired. I searched and found more photographs I never knew she took, some really new. She hadn't gotten to a few of them. So I poked out my eyes. When I looked through the holes, I suddenly saw the past. It was like I had gone back in time, and I was four years younger and heading out of the house to raise a little Hell. I saw every minute of it, even the things I had been too drunk to remember before. It was like a memory but brighter."
I was shivering. I told Muriel she could stop now if she wanted to.
Annoyance crept into her voice, "I don't know how it works. Maybe I don't want to. But now I'll never know if she was just a shitty mom or if she treated me the way she did, so I would run wild to spite her. I'll never know if I was just a puppet."
"So you burned all the pictures," I said.
"Just in case someone ever wants to try and look through my eyes. My life may be shit but it's mine," she got out of bed and threw me my clothes, "get dressed, you can't stay here. Not tonight."
There was nothing else to say; I pulled on my pants and shirt and walked back to my trailer with my boots in my hand. The ground was cold and rough under my feet. I thought to myself of what Muriel's life had become, of what it might have been. Instead of going inside, I sat on my front steps, looked back to Muriel's trailer, and thought of all the glossy magazines she had strewn about every room. I wondered what I would find if I thumbed through one- would the pages be pristine, or would the eyes of choice celebrities be poked out?
But I never asked or looked for fear of having to spend all my nights alone.

MURIEL BY AL BRUNO III
This Town is a cluster of homes and businesses that mark the point where the highway begins to stretch across the open desert. The Town is slowly fading, with the population growing older and dying off, leaving their homes and dreams behind. I live in a trailer park near the scrapyard that employs me.
The woman on the other side of the trailer park is a middle-aged widow living off her husband's pension. Still, the money she receives barely covers her rent. She lives on a fast food diet and reads tabloid magazines by candlelight. To make ends meet, she sells her body. Her name is Muriel, and I'm her last customer on the nights I can afford it. Our physical intimacies are just a ritual; she knows I'm there because I'll pay dearly for not having to wake up alone.
One night, it was too warm to sleep. We sat on the bed in the dark, smoking cigarettes and talking. I thought to myself how beautiful she looked as a shadow; her every feature softened. It was only when she inhaled her cigarette that the orange pinpoint of light revealed the toll time and her husband's cruelties had taken on her.
Somehow, the conversation turned to personal photographs, and she said, "No pictures. I burned all there was after my Mamma passed on, and I told Joe I didn't want any wedding photos either. I don't want anything to do with any of it. I don't like the way photographs look. It's not that I dislike how a picture makes me look. I know I ain't a beauty queen. I mean to say that I don't like how pictures look."
In my long-lost university days, I studied psychology, and this sounded like a case of paranoia. Still, the bitter experience taught me never to judge or be sure. "Why did you burn your mother's pictures of you?" I asked.
"By the time I was sixteen, I was staying out all night, drinking and screwing around. It didn't matter what time I came home, my Mamma was waiting up for me. She always knew who I was with and she always knew what I was up to. She would yell at me, but she always yelled at me, and sometimes she slapped and pushed. It was that way ever since I was twelve. I used to tell myself she was jealous because..." Muriel paused. I could hear how much she wanted me to believe what she said next, "...I was beautiful then."
"Go on."
"I was maybe twenty-one when the cancer took her. I started going through her things, deciding what to keep and what to give away or sell. I started to find photos of me, not in an album or a frame. They were just stashed all around," Muriel lit another cigarette and shook out the match, "all the photos I found of me were ruined. She marked them up with some kind of a pin."
"What did she do?" I put my hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away.
"She poked out the eyes. I didn't know why; I thought maybe she was crazy or she hated me more than I thought," Muriel explained, "I don't know what came over me, but I held one of those ruined pictures up to the light and stared through the holes. I saw something through them. I looked closer and held the picture right up to my face. The holes were like windows. I saw where I was when the picture was taken. It was the old playground off Sixteenth Street."
"How?" I asked.
If Muriel heard, she ignored me. "It was the same with every picture I found; they all showed me someplace I had been, but everything looked spent and tired. I searched and found more photographs I never knew she took, some really new. She hadn't gotten to a few of them. So I poked out my eyes. When I looked through the holes, I suddenly saw the past. It was like I had gone back in time, and I was four years younger and heading out of the house to raise a little Hell. I saw every minute of it, even the things I had been too drunk to remember before. It was like a memory but brighter."
I was shivering. I told Muriel she could stop now if she wanted to.
Annoyance crept into her voice, "I don't know how it works. Maybe I don't want to. But now I'll never know if she was just a shitty mom or if she treated me the way she did, so I would run wild to spite her. I'll never know if I was just a puppet."
"So you burned all the pictures," I said.
"Just in case someone ever wants to try and look through my eyes. My life may be shit but it's mine," she got out of bed and threw me my clothes, "get dressed, you can't stay here. Not tonight."
There was nothing else to say; I pulled on my pants and shirt and walked back to my trailer with my boots in my hand. The ground was cold and rough under my feet. I thought to myself of what Muriel's life had become, of what it might have been. Instead of going inside, I sat on my front steps, looked back to Muriel's trailer, and thought of all the glossy magazines she had strewn about every room. I wondered what I would find if I thumbed through one- would the pages be pristine, or would the eyes of choice celebrities be poked out?
But I never asked or looked for fear of having to spend all my nights alone.

Long post here: My wife and I are currently in the middle of building a custom home in Orange County Florida. Our builder who was recommended to us by my father and was his “friend” has done a terrible job for us. Our home build started a year ago but has been on hold since December due to inspection issues. The builder has had issues with the inspector failing and not explaining the issues. That’s just half of the problem. He did not budget correctly and completely left off some things from the budget. It mostly started when the builder messed up our house plans. The subs that he hired screwed up the back patio wall on our home, needed to be 12ft block and they only took it to 10ft block. The builder was away at the time and never fixed the issue. It has just seemed that he hasn’t compared our plan to the work being done very well. So since then. It has set off a chain of events of everything being off and him having to go back to the architect and engineer to have things redone. It has wasted so much time because of his negligence. In his contract it states that he has to eat the costs of all of his mistakes, but our worry is that how do we know he won’t just chalk it up to increase building and labor cost and at the end of this, him coming to us saying he needs more money. My dad believes he is an honest guy and he has been forth-rite with owning his mistakes. He has stated that this is his fault. Because, of the mistakes and the failing of inspections. He planned on bypassing the county inspector and having the engineer approve things. He went on with construction without county approval and they put a stop build on our home. So most of that has been fixed with the county because he is having the engineer write letters stating it is approved. This process is taking so long and unecessary. We were supposed to be in our home already. We are currently renting at 2700 a month and paying interest of about 1600-1800 a month on the construction loan. Our rental renewal is up again in August so we will have to eat that as well. We were expecting to be out by now. Would it be worth suing the builder to get back any lost money during this time? We haven’t wanted to do anything currently during the build because we don’t want it to make the relationship any worse. We have thought about firing him but I have stalled on this because it would just cause us more time to not be in our home. The new builder would still need to fix the issues and probably would charge us for fixing them. Also, we have asked multiple times for a budget update and have not been given one. I also need to note that the builder is a Veteran, has been going through health issues and family illness. Would appreciate any advice on our problem. Needless to say we are going crazy in our apartment. We have 2 kids. TIA

Introduction to the Central Cultural Fund

The Central Cultural Fund (CCF) is a prestigious organization dedicated to the preservation and promotion of Sri Lanka's rich cultural heritage. With a focus on maintaining historical sites and fostering cultural education, the CCF plays a crucial role in safeguarding the nation's history for future generations. As part of its ongoing efforts, the CCF is currently seeking qualified Quantity Surveyors to join its team in 2024.

Role of a Quantity Surveyor

Quantity Surveyors are essential to the CCF's mission, providing expertise in cost management, contract administration, and financial planning for various cultural and heritage projects. Their responsibilities include:

• Cost Estimation and Budgeting: Developing accurate cost estimates and budgets for restoration and construction projects.
• Contract Management: Overseeing contracts, ensuring compliance with legal and regulatory requirements.
• Project Financial Reporting: Preparing detailed financial reports and managing project finances.
• Risk Management: Identifying and mitigating financial risks associated with projects.
• Resource Allocation: Efficiently allocating resources to maximize project outcomes.

Qualifications and Requirements

To be considered for a Quantity Surveyor position at the CCF, candidates must meet the following criteria:

• Educational Background: A degree in Quantity Surveying, Civil Engineering, or a related field.
• Professional Experience: At least 3-5 years of experience in quantity surveying, preferably with experience in cultural or heritage projects.
• Technical Skills: Proficiency in relevant software (e.g., AutoCAD, MS Project, CostX).
• Regulatory Knowledge: Familiarity with local and international building regulations and standards.
• Communication Skills: Strong verbal and written communication abilities to liaise with stakeholders and prepare detailed reports.

Application Process

Interested candidates should submit their applications online through the CCF's official website. The application package must include:

• A Detailed Resume: Highlighting educational background, professional experience, and relevant skills.
• Cover Letter: Explaining the candidate's interest in the position and how their qualifications align with the CCF's needs.
• References: Contact information for professional references who can attest to the candidate's suitability for the role.

Benefits of Working with the Central Cultural Fund

Joining the CCF offers numerous advantages, including:

• Professional Growth: Opportunities for continuous learning and professional development in the field of cultural heritage preservation.
• Collaborative Environment: Working alongside experts in archaeology, history, and conservation.
• Impactful Work: Contributing to the preservation of Sri Lanka's cultural heritage for future generations.
• Competitive Compensation: A comprehensive salary package with benefits aligned with industry standards.

Project Overview: Key Cultural Sites

Quantity Surveyors at the CCF will be involved in various high-profile projects. Some notable sites include:

1. Sigiriya Rock Fortress

The Sigiriya Rock Fortress, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, requires meticulous restoration efforts to maintain its structural integrity and historical significance.

2. Anuradhapura Sacred City

Anuradhapura, one of the ancient capitals of Sri Lanka, is another focal point, where Quantity Surveyors will manage restoration projects aimed at preserving its ancient structures and monuments.

3. Dambulla Cave Temple

The Dambulla Cave Temple, known for its exquisite murals and statues, presents unique challenges in conservation, requiring precise cost estimation and resource management.

Conclusion

The Central Cultural Fund offers a unique and rewarding opportunity for Quantity Surveyors to engage in meaningful work that preserves Sri Lanka's rich cultural heritage. With competitive benefits and the chance to work on prestigious projects, the CCF is an ideal place for professionals looking to make a significant impact in the field of cultural preservation. Interested candidates are encouraged to apply and contribute to the CCF's mission of protecting and promoting the nation's historical treasures.