Metro by t mobile near me

It was left at his doorstep three weeks ago, in what might’ve been the sketchiest package delivery I’ve ever seen.
I imagine that the pair of lanky, neckbeard-sporting gentlemen nearly fractured their spines in the process of unloading the thing from their van. Ignoring the dolly, they opted to instead distribute its weight amongst themselves. They each clung to a side of the massive box and awkwardly shuffled across my neighbor's yard.
By the way their knees buckled with each step, I picked the mystery item for a refrigerator. Then again, I’d never known refrigerators to arrive encased in bright pink wrapping paper.
Before I continue, it’s important to note that my neighbor, Chance Wilkins, is mentally handicapped. He hadn’t always been that way, though. His mother, Sally, who owns the house, had shared a bit of information with me regarding his accident.
Years earlier, he had been run off the road by an absent-minded semi driver. He careened into a concrete toll booth at seventy miles per hour, crushing him within an inch of his life. Since the accident, Chance has undergone a dozen surgeries. Everything from reconstructive procedures to an emergency craniectomy as the result of a traumatic brain injury. Though he was able to understand everything that was said to him, he could no longer speak for himself. He would carry a dry erase board with him wherever he went. That way, he could easily and effectively communicate with anybody that he needed to.
Recently, his mother's health had taken a turn for the worse. Alzheimer's disease. It was decided that she would be relocated to a nursing home, and that Chance would try his hand at living independently. For the past few months now, that has been the case.
Living alone didn’t become an issue until about a week after Sally’s departure. I’d witnessed many of Chance's tantrums, but never to the extent that they ultimately got to. My bedroom window is no more than ten feet from his house, so I practically lived there with him. And I could hear fucking everything. Night after night, I’d be awoken by shrill screams, shattering glass, and slamming doors.
Thanks to the anonymity that Reddit offers, I can admit that I’m no angel, and that I wanted to knock on his door and politely ask him to cut the shit. I’ve got a full-time job that requires me to wake up no later than five in the morning and I cannot stand being deprived of my sleep.
However, I was warned by neighbors not to engage him when he gets that way, as it could lead to further issues. And as you can imagine, filing a noise complaint on a handicapped person is never a good look. The truth is, I don’t know what prompted Chance to act out. All that I know is that his tantrums seemed to temporarily cease upon the package's arrival. I’ve never been one to argue with a good thing, but I was damn curious about whatever the hell was in that box.
A few days later, as I was pulling into my driveway after work, I caught him just before he retreated indoors. My curiosity got the better of me. I cranked down the window of my shitty Ford Focus, and called out to him.
“Mr. Wilkins, the man of the hour!” I shouted.
“How are you doing today, man?”
He turned to face me. He was positively beaming. In all my years on Lloyd Street, and all my years of knowing Chance, I had never seen him smile so sincerely.
I smiled back at him.
“That's what I like to see! What's got you so happy, Chance?”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a marker.
He scrawled away on his dry erase board for a while before turning it in my direction.
I have been missing something for a very long time.
I didn’t know what he meant by this, nor did I have opportunity to inquire further. Without falter in his smile, he waved to me, spun on his heels, and walked inside.
I laughed to myself, as this interaction had turned out to be the most pleasant one I’d ever had with him. After all, a happy Chance leads to bountiful rest.
I slept soundly for the next week or sountil the music began.
I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. My AC is broken. It’s on a timer and only spits out hot air most of the time. Annoyed, I reached over and opened my window.
I only noticed it as I was about to drift off again. From the direction of the Wilkins home, It sounded like somebody was playing a piano.
I looked at the clock.
2:58
Wonderful.
Chance had decided that three in the morning was the ideal time to get musical. I turned red. I was so aggravated that I bolted upright and leapt from the bed to grab my shoes.
As I put my jacket on, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. The Wilkins’ living room light was on.
I walked to the window and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was getting up to in there. Through it, I could see the piano. My window is so close to their home that I could see the keys bouncing up and down on their own. Sally had mentioned owning a piano that reads sheet music, so I ruled any poltergeist activity out of the equation. Chance would have to answer for this himself.
Suddenly, he entered the living room. I noticed his dog walking sheepishly beside him. Its eyes were transfixed on a couch which faced my opposite. Much like my recent interaction with Chance, he looked cheery. He was smiling, even doing his best to dance to the music.
I sighed audibly, I’m sure.
Who would I be to interfere with such joy? Especially to a man who has been denied so much of it. I reassessed.
And then Chance did something that made me freeze.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marker.
He walked to his dresser, retrieved his dry erase board, and he began writing.
I ducked faster than I knew I could move.
Had I been spotted?
I had that roller coaster feeling in my stomach. The feeling a person gets when they’re caught in a lie.
I slowly inched my way back up the wall and peered out the window once more. Chance’s dry erase board had turned to face me.
I love you
A strange feeling came over me.
Fortunately, Chance's gaze seemed to focus not on me, but on the couch.
There was somebody in that house with him. I returned my attention to the dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Her tail was tucked between her legs, and though she kept her head down, she refused to take her eyes off of the couch for a second. Certainly this person was unfamiliar?
I looked to the driveway, which remained empty. I had been home all weekend and failed to notice anybody other than Chance enter the house.
I took my shoes and jacket off and got back into bed.
As I stared at my ceiling, I thought about how none of this would be so strange if Chance wasn’t such a hermit. I had never seen him socialize with anybody outside of his immediate family. Regardless, he looked happy.
That night, I drifted asleep to the sound of Chance's laughter, which at the time, reaffirmed that I had made the right decision.
I was awoken again. This time by a crashing noise.
I looked at the clock.
It was four in the morning.
I heard the noise again, louder this time.
An odd, mechanical whirr droned from within.
Chance began yelling unintelligibly.
A chill shot down my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
A definite scraping noise slowly moved from one end of the Wilkins house to another.
I looked out of the window. Not a single light was on in the Wilkins home.
Thud…Thud… Thud…
I tried to collect myself.
Suddenly, the piano began to play itself again. And through the pitch-black darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a thin, very tall lady in Chance's living room.
She stood perfectly still before the piano.
Though I was in no danger, I could hear my own heartbeat pulsating through my temples.
I couldn’t look away.
And then she moved.
She made a break for the doorway, taking giant bounding steps. She moved as if she had no articulation below the knees. Like a circus clown on stilts. Despite this, she made ground fast, as evident by the pounding of her footsteps, which tore from the living room to the upstairs.
Chance yelled in protest. I’d heard that tone before. It's the same one he'd use when his mother would drag him out of the house for Church, or cook him something that he didn't like.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again.
The pair had walked back downstairs. They both made their way to the couch and sat down.
For thirty minutes I just watched as they sat there in the dark, with the same song playing over and over and over again.
After work that day, I saw Chance alone on his porch smoking a cigarette.
I got straight to business and pulled into his driveway. I thought long and hard about how to approach the situation, and figured it best to calmly talk it out.
Despite my preparations, I ended up spacing on where to begin, so I just went for it.
“Hey, Chance. Long night?” I asked
He made no attempt for the dry erase board.
He just sat there looking defeated.
“Listen, I’m not angry with you.”
Chance looked up at me, his eyes softened.
His lip began to twitch.
“It’s just that I’ve got a job. I need to wake up early and it's quite difficult to fall asleep while you're hosting a mosh pit in the dead of night.”
“Can we make a compromise? Let's say no piano parties after … eleven?”
That got his attention. He reached for his marker and began to write.
11:00 PM is a perfectly reasonable time to ask for some peace and quiet.
I hoped to god that he would agree to my terms.
Suddenly, Chance stopped writing. He paused for a second and looked up at me.
He erased his message and started over.
It only took him a few seconds.
He turned his dry erase board around so that I could read it.
Just take it, please.
I was taken aback.
I don’t know what sort of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.
“You want me to have your piano?” I asked
Chance nodded quickly, giving me a sort of half-smile.
I laughed. “Chance, I can’t take that from you.”
He made a face and raised his hands as if to say “Why not?”
“Well … I’ve got nowhere to put the thing. And I don’t want to take anything from you! I just came here to talk.” I said.
He began scrawling again.
Then sell it. I just want it gone.
He was putting me in an awkward position. I truly wanted nothing to do with his gift, as it seemed like a white elephant. However, I was starting to believe that the going rate for a self-playing piano may be worth my time.
I paused, thinking it over for a moment.
It seemed like a win-win. If I got the piano out of that house, I might be able to avoid any repeats of the previous night. Plus, some extra money in the bank always feels nice, right?
“It uh.. might take me a few days to get some people around. I can’t move the thing by myself.”
Chance looked almost offended. Quickly, he began writing.
His message was clear.
It’s got wheels. I'm stronger than I look.
The look he gave me was screaming “You’re a dick.”
And with that, we headed inside.
The place was an absolute sty. Sally’s gray wallpaper hung from the wall, shredded to bits.
The once spotless hardwood floor was coated in hundreds of black splotches, which I wasn’t eager to dodge with the piano. There were various sized holes punched through the walls, floors, even the ceiling.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” I said.
Chance rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed.
We each grabbed an end of the piano.
“You sure you want to get rid of this, Chance? It looks pretty expensive.”
I reached down and pressed on a random key.
Just when I did, it sounded as if somebody started a car in the other room.
I jumped. Chance flinched.
“What the fuck was that, Chance?”
He shook his head back and forth rapidly.
I heard the same whirring as I did the previous night.
I got louder
“Chance, answer me please. What the hell is going on?”
Something began to move in the other room. Slowly, I heard it inch its way to the door.
Thud
The door flexed slightly inwards, but did not open.
I turned to face the direction of the noise. Ignoring my manners, I slowly began to walk towards it. I can’t explain the terror that I felt as I neared whatever was on the other side of that door. Just as I reached for the knob, Chance grabbed me by the arm.
I looked at him.
A single tear streamed down his face.
He tugged on my arm twice.
I stared back at him. He looked like he’d seen war.
He tugged on my arm again.
I couldn’t tell if he was warning me or pleading.
A slow scratching noise crept from the top of the doorframe to the bottom, chilling me to my core.
I agreed. I let him direct me back to the piano. Both of our hands shook as we guided it from his property to mine.
We exchanged goodbyes in the driveway.
I was about to finish the job myself. But just before I could push it inside, I noticed something. One of the piano's wheels was coated in the same black substance that covered the Wilkins’ floor.
I decided to spray it with a hose, as I didn’t want to get any closer than I had to.
It was only then that I realized what the substance was.
It was oil.
The rest of the week went smoothly. There was little noise from the Wilkins house, and I was sleeping just fine. It seemed that taking the piano off of Chance's hands worked out better than I expected it to.
I worked overtime last night. I didn't get home until nine, and I was absolutely dead.
After a shower, I decided to start off my weekend with a glass of whiskey.
For kicks, I loaded some of the Wilkins sheet music into the piano.
I listened to various songs for about an hour before I came across one that was far more worn than the others.I figured that probably meant that this specific song was a favorite in the Wilkins household. I was correct.
The song was called Lament. It was the same one playing in Chance's living room the previous week. Right about that time, the whiskey had made its way to my bladder. I slightly turned the music up so that it could follow me to the restroom. I had a little more than I should have, as walking in a straight line had become troublesome.
Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Through my bathroom window, I could make out the shape of a lady in Chance's living room. Though she appeared to be staring back at me, I could not make out her face in the darkness. She swayed back and forth at the hips slowly.
As I finished up, I walked to my lightswitch and flipped it off, but I did not leave. I just stood in the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.
What is with this bitch?
I got a sickening feeling as she slowly tilted her body backwards and slammed her face through the glass. I could now hear the noises she was emitting. Every motion she made was matched by a wet, hydraulic screeching.
I stood still as she advanced. Taking long strides, she clumsily made her way across Chance’s yard and into mine. As she approached my house I was able to make out her face.
Only then did I make the connection. The thing standing in my yard was no person. It was a mannequin. An inanimate object.
Despite that, it seemed to be searching for something, for no movement it made was without purpose.
I backed into my hallway. I didn’t know what to do.
Is there a correct person to call in a situation like this?
I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I must’ve left it on the piano.
The thing's head slowly buzzed in a semicircle until its eyes were fixed on me. I doubted that it could see me through the darkness, yet it seemed to stare right through me. Just then, it lunged at me, breaking into a sprint. I slammed the bathroom door and held it shut as the mannequin came crashing through my window. I heard it writhing about on the floor before clambering to its feet. It began to beat the door down.
Between strikes, it’d push against the door. I could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
And then it spoke.
“ Treat me like a lady!”
It sounded like it spoke through a synthesizer.
“Turn up the music! Treat me like a lady!”
Everything about the way that it spoke was wrong. When people talk, we do so with infliction.
This thing had no infliction. No tone. No soul.
I began to panic as it pushed harder against the door. I could hear its mechanical parts spinning rapidly each time it applied force. It began to pound again. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer.
As I wondered if I should give up and make a break for the front door, I noticed that the mannequin had stopped applying pressure. Unwilling to risk it, I did not let go.
I could hear it moving on the other side, lowering itself to the ground. I stood still.
My heart sank when it slid something under the door. I ignored it, not letting my focus stray from keeping the door shut. I sat there with a death grip on the door for what seemed like hours, but the mannequin made no further attempts on the door.
I could hear it rise to its feet, and leave through the window.
I was hyperventilating. With my head in my hands, I shifted my focus to the floor.
There before me, was Chance’s dry erase board, bearing only two words.
Please don’t

I need to do a gr12 course in OVS, and I need the midterm before april 25 for my program. Never taken OVS before and I can’t seem to find anyone who’s been in a similar situation. Do the teachers mark fast enough for me to have enough grades to submit by midterms?
Also, it says you need to be in it for 14 days to request the midterms. Must I be done half the content by then too?
(Also, the lessons are recorded videos, right?)
Thank you!

you’re telling me i’m scared of eating? that numbers dictate my entire life? that i have been chasing a certain unrealistic weight for years? you’re telling me that i am consumed by my body and how it will look today, tomorrow, in a year if i keep binging or keep restricting? that my body size dictates my feelings of worthiness to exist? that i can’t stop this stupid out of control thing and still keep doing it despite nothing ever getting better?
i hate restricting. i hate binging. i hate purging. i hate exercising this much. i hate the thoughts, obsessions and how much i care about food and my body.
i can turn it off for a while. i am great at hiding my disorder these days and i can put on a show guilt free for a week while living with my family. but i always return because eating like a normal person for a week makes me gain a stupidly small amount of weight, but an amount i cannot handle. it’s not about that 0.something of a kg, it’s about multiplying that 52 times and that’s what i will weigh a year from now if i keep this up.
i could lose to my lw, just give me a few months. i know i am capable of it, but i know i won’t be able to maintain it. i know the road there will be miserable. i know i will never get better unless i let go of the idea that i can be the smallest i have ever been without killing myself on my way there.
it’s all just so stupid. i know everything i need to do to recover. i know that nothing will get better unless i make it better. but i also know everything i need to do to get back to my lowest. and embarrassingly enough i cannot for the life of me decide which way to go, because i can be miserable as hell but skinny, or potentially happy (???) but have less control over my body. and the latter is terrifying to the point that i cannot rationalize ever letting myself gain weight even if it would mean i would be free from all of this.
truly honestly deeply, it’s embarrassing.

I was assigned a group project. Unfortunately even though I’m in college, we’re still playing by high school’s shared grade rules. This is important because of what my partner did.
My partner and I were supposed ti conduct an interview, and we thankfully did, but he wasn’t able to do so until Thursday. It was 2 days since I told him to send over the interview stuff. I thought I was just gonna deal with editing the Q&A to make it look nice, but what they send me was an MP3 audio of the interview that’s 17 minutes long. I’m only about 5 minutes in and it took me 5 hours alone to complete that.
The the Q&A is due this Monday and we present on Tuesday. I need to look my very best tomorrow because not only are we being graded on looks but also our presentation. I feel like a fucking circus clown walking along a steel-wire tightrope.
I already talked my dad about this shit since he’s a professional writer and emailed my teacher telling her that our group might be fucked 6 ways till Sunday (for context, this project is worth 50% of our grade). And I haven’t gotten a response from my teacher, and my dad says that my weekend has pretty much been stolen from me!
I’m at work right now trying to get my assignment done on the job, and I’m fucking terrified. HELP!!!!!

It was left at his doorstep three weeks ago, in what might’ve been the sketchiest package delivery I’ve ever seen.
I imagine that the pair of lanky, neckbeard-sporting gentlemen nearly fractured their spines in the process of unloading the thing from their van. Ignoring the dolly, they opted to instead distribute its weight amongst themselves. They each clung to a side of the massive box and awkwardly shuffled across my neighbor's yard.
By the way their knees buckled with each step, I picked the mystery item for a refrigerator. Then again, I’d never known refrigerators to arrive encased in bright pink wrapping paper.
Before I continue, it’s important to note that my neighbor, Chance Wilkins, is mentally handicapped. He hadn’t always been that way, though. His mother, Sally, who owns the house, had shared a bit of information with me regarding his accident.
Years earlier, he had been run off the road by an absent-minded semi driver. He careened into a concrete toll booth at seventy miles per hour, crushing him within an inch of his life. Since the accident, Chance has undergone a dozen surgeries. Everything from reconstructive procedures to an emergency craniectomy as the result of a traumatic brain injury. Though he was able to understand everything that was said to him, he could no longer speak for himself. He would carry a dry erase board with him wherever he went. That way, he could easily and effectively communicate with anybody that he needed to.
Recently, his mother's health had taken a turn for the worse. Alzheimer's disease. It was decided that she would be relocated to a nursing home, and that Chance would try his hand at living independently. For the past few months now, that has been the case.
Living alone didn’t become an issue until about a week after Sally’s departure. I’d witnessed many of Chance's tantrums, but never to the extent that they ultimately got to. My bedroom window is no more than ten feet from his house, so I practically lived there with him. And I could hear fucking everything. Night after night, I’d be awoken by shrill screams, shattering glass, and slamming doors.
Thanks to the anonymity that Reddit offers, I can admit that I’m no angel, and that I wanted to knock on his door and politely ask him to cut the shit. I’ve got a full-time job that requires me to wake up no later than five in the morning and I cannot stand being deprived of my sleep.
However, I was warned by neighbors not to engage him when he gets that way, as it could lead to further issues. And as you can imagine, filing a noise complaint on a handicapped person is never a good look. The truth is, I don’t know what prompted Chance to act out. All that I know is that his tantrums seemed to temporarily cease upon the package's arrival. I’ve never been one to argue with a good thing, but I was damn curious about whatever the hell was in that box.
A few days later, as I was pulling into my driveway after work, I caught him just before he retreated indoors. My curiosity got the better of me. I cranked down the window of my shitty Ford Focus, and called out to him.
“Mr. Wilkins, the man of the hour!” I shouted.
“How are you doing today, man?”
He turned to face me. He was positively beaming. In all my years on Lloyd Street, and all my years of knowing Chance, I had never seen him smile so sincerely.
I smiled back at him.
“That's what I like to see! What's got you so happy, Chance?”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a marker.
He scrawled away on his dry erase board for a while before turning it in my direction.
I have been missing something for a very long time.
I didn’t know what he meant by this, nor did I have opportunity to inquire further. Without falter in his smile, he waved to me, spun on his heels, and walked inside.
I laughed to myself, as this interaction had turned out to be the most pleasant one I’d ever had with him. After all, a happy Chance leads to bountiful rest.
I slept soundly for the next week or sountil the music began.
I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. My AC is broken. It’s on a timer and only spits out hot air most of the time. Annoyed, I reached over and opened my window.
I only noticed it as I was about to drift off again. From the direction of the Wilkins home, It sounded like somebody was playing a piano.
I looked at the clock.
2:58
Wonderful.
Chance had decided that three in the morning was the ideal time to get musical. I turned red. I was so aggravated that I bolted upright and leapt from the bed to grab my shoes.
As I put my jacket on, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. The Wilkins’ living room light was on.
I walked to the window and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was getting up to in there. Through it, I could see the piano. My window is so close to their home that I could see the keys bouncing up and down on their own. Sally had mentioned owning a piano that reads sheet music, so I ruled any poltergeist activity out of the equation. Chance would have to answer for this himself.
Suddenly, he entered the living room. I noticed his dog walking sheepishly beside him. Its eyes were transfixed on a couch which faced my opposite. Much like my recent interaction with Chance, he looked cheery. He was smiling, even doing his best to dance to the music.
I sighed audibly, I’m sure.
Who would I be to interfere with such joy? Especially to a man who has been denied so much of it. I reassessed.
And then Chance did something that made me freeze.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marker.
He walked to his dresser, retrieved his dry erase board, and he began writing.
I ducked faster than I knew I could move.
Had I been spotted?
I had that roller coaster feeling in my stomach. The feeling a person gets when they’re caught in a lie.
I slowly inched my way back up the wall and peered out the window once more. Chance’s dry erase board had turned to face me.
I love you
A strange feeling came over me.
Fortunately, Chance's gaze seemed to focus not on me, but on the couch.
There was somebody in that house with him. I returned my attention to the dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Her tail was tucked between her legs, and though she kept her head down, she refused to take her eyes off of the couch for a second. Certainly this person was unfamiliar?
I looked to the driveway, which remained empty. I had been home all weekend and failed to notice anybody other than Chance enter the house.
I took my shoes and jacket off and got back into bed.
As I stared at my ceiling, I thought about how none of this would be so strange if Chance wasn’t such a hermit. I had never seen him socialize with anybody outside of his immediate family. Regardless, he looked happy.
That night, I drifted asleep to the sound of Chance's laughter, which at the time, reaffirmed that I had made the right decision.
I was awoken again. This time by a crashing noise.
I looked at the clock.
It was four in the morning.
I heard the noise again, louder this time.
An odd, mechanical whirr droned from within.
Chance began yelling unintelligibly.
A chill shot down my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
A definite scraping noise slowly moved from one end of the Wilkins house to another.
I looked out of the window. Not a single light was on in the Wilkins home.
Thud…Thud… Thud…
I tried to collect myself.
Suddenly, the piano began to play itself again. And through the pitch-black darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a thin, very tall lady in Chance's living room.
She stood perfectly still before the piano.
Though I was in no danger, I could hear my own heartbeat pulsating through my temples.
I couldn’t look away.
And then she moved.
She made a break for the doorway, taking giant bounding steps. She moved as if she had no articulation below the knees. Like a circus clown on stilts. Despite this, she made ground fast, as evident by the pounding of her footsteps, which tore from the living room to the upstairs.
Chance yelled in protest. I’d heard that tone before. It's the same one he'd use when his mother would drag him out of the house for Church, or cook him something that he didn't like.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again.
The pair had walked back downstairs. They both made their way to the couch and sat down.
For thirty minutes I just watched as they sat there in the dark, with the same song playing over and over and over again.
After work that day, I saw Chance alone on his porch smoking a cigarette.
I got straight to business and pulled into his driveway. I thought long and hard about how to approach the situation, and figured it best to calmly talk it out.
Despite my preparations, I ended up spacing on where to begin, so I just went for it.
“Hey, Chance. Long night?” I asked
He made no attempt for the dry erase board.
He just sat there looking defeated.
“Listen, I’m not angry with you.”
Chance looked up at me, his eyes softened.
His lip began to twitch.
“It’s just that I’ve got a job. I need to wake up early and it's quite difficult to fall asleep while you're hosting a mosh pit in the dead of night.”
“Can we make a compromise? Let's say no piano parties after … eleven?”
That got his attention. He reached for his marker and began to write.
11:00 PM is a perfectly reasonable time to ask for some peace and quiet.
I hoped to god that he would agree to my terms.
Suddenly, Chance stopped writing. He paused for a second and looked up at me.
He erased his message and started over.
It only took him a few seconds.
He turned his dry erase board around so that I could read it.
Just take it, please.
I was taken aback.
I don’t know what sort of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.
“You want me to have your piano?” I asked
Chance nodded quickly, giving me a sort of half-smile.
I laughed. “Chance, I can’t take that from you.”
He made a face and raised his hands as if to say “Why not?”
“Well … I’ve got nowhere to put the thing. And I don’t want to take anything from you! I just came here to talk.” I said.
He began scrawling again.
Then sell it. I just want it gone.
He was putting me in an awkward position. I truly wanted nothing to do with his gift, as it seemed like a white elephant. However, I was starting to believe that the going rate for a self-playing piano may be worth my time.
I paused, thinking it over for a moment.
It seemed like a win-win. If I got the piano out of that house, I might be able to avoid any repeats of the previous night. Plus, some extra money in the bank always feels nice, right?
“It uh.. might take me a few days to get some people around. I can’t move the thing by myself.”
Chance looked almost offended. Quickly, he began writing.
His message was clear.
It’s got wheels. I'm stronger than I look.
The look he gave me was screaming “You’re a dick.”
And with that, we headed inside.
The place was an absolute sty. Sally’s gray wallpaper hung from the wall, shredded to bits.
The once spotless hardwood floor was coated in hundreds of black splotches, which I wasn’t eager to dodge with the piano. There were various sized holes punched through the walls, floors, even the ceiling.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” I said.
Chance rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed.
We each grabbed an end of the piano.
“You sure you want to get rid of this, Chance? It looks pretty expensive.”
I reached down and pressed on a random key.
Just when I did, it sounded as if somebody started a car in the other room.
I jumped. Chance flinched.
“What the fuck was that, Chance?”
He shook his head back and forth rapidly.
I heard the same whirring as I did the previous night.
I got louder
“Chance, answer me please. What the hell is going on?”
Something began to move in the other room. Slowly, I heard it inch its way to the door.
Thud
The door flexed slightly inwards, but did not open.
I turned to face the direction of the noise. Ignoring my manners, I slowly began to walk towards it. I can’t explain the terror that I felt as I neared whatever was on the other side of that door. Just as I reached for the knob, Chance grabbed me by the arm.
I looked at him.
A single tear streamed down his face.
He tugged on my arm twice.
I stared back at him. He looked like he’d seen war.
He tugged on my arm again.
I couldn’t tell if he was warning me or pleading.
A slow scratching noise crept from the top of the doorframe to the bottom, chilling me to my core.
I agreed. I let him direct me back to the piano. Both of our hands shook as we guided it from his property to mine.
We exchanged goodbyes in the driveway.
I was about to finish the job myself. But just before I could push it inside, I noticed something. One of the piano's wheels was coated in the same black substance that covered the Wilkins’ floor.
I decided to spray it with a hose, as I didn’t want to get any closer than I had to.
It was only then that I realized what the substance was.
It was oil.
The rest of the week went smoothly. There was little noise from the Wilkins house, and I was sleeping just fine. It seemed that taking the piano off of Chance's hands worked out better than I expected it to.
I worked overtime last night. I didn't get home until nine, and I was absolutely dead.
After a shower, I decided to start off my weekend with a glass of whiskey.
For kicks, I loaded some of the Wilkins sheet music into the piano.
I listened to various songs for about an hour before I came across one that was far more worn than the others.I figured that probably meant that this specific song was a favorite in the Wilkins household. I was correct.
The song was called Lament. It was the same one playing in Chance's living room the previous week. Right about that time, the whiskey had made its way to my bladder. I slightly turned the music up so that it could follow me to the restroom. I had a little more than I should have, as walking in a straight line had become troublesome.
Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Through my bathroom window, I could make out the shape of a lady in Chance's living room. Though she appeared to be staring back at me, I could not make out her face in the darkness. She swayed back and forth at the hips slowly.
As I finished up, I walked to my lightswitch and flipped it off, but I did not leave. I just stood in the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.
What is with this bitch?
I got a sickening feeling as she slowly tilted her body backwards and slammed her face through the glass. I could now hear the noises she was emitting. Every motion she made was matched by a wet, hydraulic screeching.
I stood still as she advanced. Taking long strides, she clumsily made her way across Chance’s yard and into mine. As she approached my house I was able to make out her face.
Only then did I make the connection. The thing standing in my yard was no person. It was a mannequin. An inanimate object.
Despite that, it seemed to be searching for something, for no movement it made was without purpose.
I backed into my hallway. I didn’t know what to do.
Is there a correct person to call in a situation like this?
I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I must’ve left it on the piano.
The thing's head slowly buzzed in a semicircle until its eyes were fixed on me. I doubted that it could see me through the darkness, yet it seemed to stare right through me. Just then, it lunged at me, breaking into a sprint. I slammed the bathroom door and held it shut as the mannequin came crashing through my window. I heard it writhing about on the floor before clambering to its feet. It began to beat the door down.
Between strikes, it’d push against the door. I could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
And then it spoke.
“ Treat me like a lady!”
It sounded like it spoke through a synthesizer.
“Turn up the music! Treat me like a lady!”
Everything about the way that it spoke was wrong. When people talk, we do so with infliction.
This thing had no infliction. No tone. No soul.
I began to panic as it pushed harder against the door. I could hear its mechanical parts spinning rapidly each time it applied force. It began to pound again. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer.
As I wondered if I should give up and make a break for the front door, I noticed that the mannequin had stopped applying pressure. Unwilling to risk it, I did not let go.
I could hear it moving on the other side, lowering itself to the ground. I stood still.
My heart sank when it slid something under the door. I ignored it, not letting my focus stray from keeping the door shut. I sat there with a death grip on the door for what seemed like hours, but the mannequin made no further attempts on the door.
I could hear it rise to its feet, and leave through the window.
I was hyperventilating. With my head in my hands, I shifted my focus to the floor.
There before me, was Chance’s dry erase board, bearing only two words.
Please don’t

I just need to rant/vent.
I have a 19mo daughter. She’s such a sweet heart ♥️
We recently moved in a nice house July last year. It’s a great neighbourhood. Lots of other kids around my daughters age. Lots of parks and trails ect. Love it! Anyways.. my daughter goes for a nap around the same time every day and around that time, my neighbour directly across me, will be outside in his driveway either working on the Jeep he has in his garage, or working on his wife’s car or his daughters, just always outside with loud tools. For hours. Every other day, he has his what looks like golden doodle, tied on his front lawn & this damn dog barks at everything that goes by. Cars, bikes, people, children, other dogs. It’s an extremely loud, annoying bark. I have 2 xl dogs, I never let them bark for no reason or disturb the neighbours. But this guy, just doesn’t care. He’s got a back yard but I don’t think the dogs ever back there.
He’s just always outside making noise while my baby tries to sleep 😫😭 Because of this, she never sleeps long or takes a while to fall asleep. Mind you, I have a sound machine in there, but I can’t even keep her window cracked (for fresh air & it gets warm sometimes) without this guy or his dogs making an annoyance the entire time. The dog barking, always wakes her up then she fusses back to sleep.
I wish he would choose different times 😭
That’s it. Rant over 😭

It was left at his doorstep three weeks ago, in what might’ve been the sketchiest package delivery I’ve ever seen.
I imagine that the pair of lanky, neckbeard-sporting gentlemen nearly fractured their spines in the process of unloading the thing from their van. Ignoring the dolly, they opted to instead distribute its weight amongst themselves. They each clung to a side of the massive box and awkwardly shuffled across my neighbor's yard.
By the way their knees buckled with each step, I picked the mystery item for a refrigerator. Then again, I’d never known refrigerators to arrive encased in bright pink wrapping paper.
Before I continue, it’s important to note that my neighbor, Chance Wilkins, is mentally handicapped. He hadn’t always been that way, though. His mother, Sally, who owns the house, had shared a bit of information with me regarding his accident.
Years earlier, he had been run off the road by an absent-minded semi driver. He careened into a concrete toll booth at seventy miles per hour, crushing him within an inch of his life. Since the accident, Chance has undergone a dozen surgeries. Everything from reconstructive procedures to an emergency craniectomy as the result of a traumatic brain injury. Though he was able to understand everything that was said to him, he could no longer speak for himself. He would carry a dry erase board with him wherever he went. That way, he could easily and effectively communicate with anybody that he needed to.
Recently, his mother's health had taken a turn for the worse. Alzheimer's disease. It was decided that she would be relocated to a nursing home, and that Chance would try his hand at living independently. For the past few months now, that has been the case.
Living alone didn’t become an issue until about a week after Sally’s departure. I’d witnessed many of Chance's tantrums, but never to the extent that they ultimately got to. My bedroom window is no more than ten feet from his house, so I practically lived there with him. And I could hear fucking everything. Night after night, I’d be awoken by shrill screams, shattering glass, and slamming doors.
Thanks to the anonymity that Reddit offers, I can admit that I’m no angel, and that I wanted to knock on his door and politely ask him to cut the shit. I’ve got a full-time job that requires me to wake up no later than five in the morning and I cannot stand being deprived of my sleep.
However, I was warned by neighbors not to engage him when he gets that way, as it could lead to further issues. And as you can imagine, filing a noise complaint on a handicapped person is never a good look. The truth is, I don’t know what prompted Chance to act out. All that I know is that his tantrums seemed to temporarily cease upon the package's arrival. I’ve never been one to argue with a good thing, but I was damn curious about whatever the hell was in that box.
A few days later, as I was pulling into my driveway after work, I caught him just before he retreated indoors. My curiosity got the better of me. I cranked down the window of my shitty Ford Focus, and called out to him.
“Mr. Wilkins, the man of the hour!” I shouted.
“How are you doing today, man?”
He turned to face me. He was positively beaming. In all my years on Lloyd Street, and all my years of knowing Chance, I had never seen him smile so sincerely.
I smiled back at him.
“That's what I like to see! What's got you so happy, Chance?”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a marker.
He scrawled away on his dry erase board for a while before turning it in my direction.
I have been missing something for a very long time.
I didn’t know what he meant by this, nor did I have opportunity to inquire further. Without falter in his smile, he waved to me, spun on his heels, and walked inside.
I laughed to myself, as this interaction had turned out to be the most pleasant one I’d ever had with him. After all, a happy Chance leads to bountiful rest.
I slept soundly for the next week or sountil the music began.
I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. My AC is broken. It’s on a timer and only spits out hot air most of the time. Annoyed, I reached over and opened my window.
I only noticed it as I was about to drift off again. From the direction of the Wilkins home, It sounded like somebody was playing a piano.
I looked at the clock.
2:58
Wonderful.
Chance had decided that three in the morning was the ideal time to get musical. I turned red. I was so aggravated that I bolted upright and leapt from the bed to grab my shoes.
As I put my jacket on, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. The Wilkins’ living room light was on.
I walked to the window and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was getting up to in there. Through it, I could see the piano. My window is so close to their home that I could see the keys bouncing up and down on their own. Sally had mentioned owning a piano that reads sheet music, so I ruled any poltergeist activity out of the equation. Chance would have to answer for this himself.
Suddenly, he entered the living room. I noticed his dog walking sheepishly beside him. Its eyes were transfixed on a couch which faced my opposite. Much like my recent interaction with Chance, he looked cheery. He was smiling, even doing his best to dance to the music.
I sighed audibly, I’m sure.
Who would I be to interfere with such joy? Especially to a man who has been denied so much of it. I reassessed.
And then Chance did something that made me freeze.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marker.
He walked to his dresser, retrieved his dry erase board, and he began writing.
I ducked faster than I knew I could move.
Had I been spotted?
I had that roller coaster feeling in my stomach. The feeling a person gets when they’re caught in a lie.
I slowly inched my way back up the wall and peered out the window once more. Chance’s dry erase board had turned to face me.
I love you
A strange feeling came over me.
Fortunately, Chance's gaze seemed to focus not on me, but on the couch.
There was somebody in that house with him. I returned my attention to the dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Her tail was tucked between her legs, and though she kept her head down, she refused to take her eyes off of the couch for a second. Certainly this person was unfamiliar?
I looked to the driveway, which remained empty. I had been home all weekend and failed to notice anybody other than Chance enter the house.
I took my shoes and jacket off and got back into bed.
As I stared at my ceiling, I thought about how none of this would be so strange if Chance wasn’t such a hermit. I had never seen him socialize with anybody outside of his immediate family. Regardless, he looked happy.
That night, I drifted asleep to the sound of Chance's laughter, which at the time, reaffirmed that I had made the right decision.
I was awoken again. This time by a crashing noise.
I looked at the clock.
It was four in the morning.
I heard the noise again, louder this time.
An odd, mechanical whirr droned from within.
Chance began yelling unintelligibly.
A chill shot down my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
A definite scraping noise slowly moved from one end of the Wilkins house to another.
I looked out of the window. Not a single light was on in the Wilkins home.
Thud…Thud… Thud…
I tried to collect myself.
Suddenly, the piano began to play itself again. And through the pitch-black darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a thin, very tall lady in Chance's living room.
She stood perfectly still before the piano.
Though I was in no danger, I could hear my own heartbeat pulsating through my temples.
I couldn’t look away.
And then she moved.
She made a break for the doorway, taking giant bounding steps. She moved as if she had no articulation below the knees. Like a circus clown on stilts. Despite this, she made ground fast, as evident by the pounding of her footsteps, which tore from the living room to the upstairs.
Chance yelled in protest. I’d heard that tone before. It's the same one he'd use when his mother would drag him out of the house for Church, or cook him something that he didn't like.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again.
The pair had walked back downstairs. They both made their way to the couch and sat down.
For thirty minutes I just watched as they sat there in the dark, with the same song playing over and over and over again.
After work that day, I saw Chance alone on his porch smoking a cigarette.
I got straight to business and pulled into his driveway. I thought long and hard about how to approach the situation, and figured it best to calmly talk it out.
Despite my preparations, I ended up spacing on where to begin, so I just went for it.
“Hey, Chance. Long night?” I asked
He made no attempt for the dry erase board.
He just sat there looking defeated.
“Listen, I’m not angry with you.”
Chance looked up at me, his eyes softened.
His lip began to twitch.
“It’s just that I’ve got a job. I need to wake up early and it's quite difficult to fall asleep while you're hosting a mosh pit in the dead of night.”
“Can we make a compromise? Let's say no piano parties after … eleven?”
That got his attention. He reached for his marker and began to write.
11:00 PM is a perfectly reasonable time to ask for some peace and quiet.
I hoped to god that he would agree to my terms.
Suddenly, Chance stopped writing. He paused for a second and looked up at me.
He erased his message and started over.
It only took him a few seconds.
He turned his dry erase board around so that I could read it.
Just take it, please.
I was taken aback.
I don’t know what sort of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.
“You want me to have your piano?” I asked
Chance nodded quickly, giving me a sort of half-smile.
I laughed. “Chance, I can’t take that from you.”
He made a face and raised his hands as if to say “Why not?”
“Well … I’ve got nowhere to put the thing. And I don’t want to take anything from you! I just came here to talk.” I said.
He began scrawling again.
Then sell it. I just want it gone.
He was putting me in an awkward position. I truly wanted nothing to do with his gift, as it seemed like a white elephant. However, I was starting to believe that the going rate for a self-playing piano may be worth my time.
I paused, thinking it over for a moment.
It seemed like a win-win. If I got the piano out of that house, I might be able to avoid any repeats of the previous night. Plus, some extra money in the bank always feels nice, right?
“It uh.. might take me a few days to get some people around. I can’t move the thing by myself.”
Chance looked almost offended. Quickly, he began writing.
His message was clear.
It’s got wheels. I'm stronger than I look.
The look he gave me was screaming “You’re a dick.”
And with that, we headed inside.
The place was an absolute sty. Sally’s gray wallpaper hung from the wall, shredded to bits.
The once spotless hardwood floor was coated in hundreds of black splotches, which I wasn’t eager to dodge with the piano. There were various sized holes punched through the walls, floors, even the ceiling.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” I said.
Chance rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed.
We each grabbed an end of the piano.
“You sure you want to get rid of this, Chance? It looks pretty expensive.”
I reached down and pressed on a random key.
Just when I did, it sounded as if somebody started a car in the other room.
I jumped. Chance flinched.
“What the fuck was that, Chance?”
He shook his head back and forth rapidly.
I heard the same whirring as I did the previous night.
I got louder
“Chance, answer me please. What the hell is going on?”
Something began to move in the other room. Slowly, I heard it inch its way to the door.
Thud
The door flexed slightly inwards, but did not open.
I turned to face the direction of the noise. Ignoring my manners, I slowly began to walk towards it. I can’t explain the terror that I felt as I neared whatever was on the other side of that door. Just as I reached for the knob, Chance grabbed me by the arm.
I looked at him.
A single tear streamed down his face.
He tugged on my arm twice.
I stared back at him. He looked like he’d seen war.
He tugged on my arm again.
I couldn’t tell if he was warning me or pleading.
A slow scratching noise crept from the top of the doorframe to the bottom, chilling me to my core.
I agreed. I let him direct me back to the piano. Both of our hands shook as we guided it from his property to mine.
We exchanged goodbyes in the driveway.
I was about to finish the job myself. But just before I could push it inside, I noticed something. One of the piano's wheels was coated in the same black substance that covered the Wilkins’ floor.
I decided to spray it with a hose, as I didn’t want to get any closer than I had to.
It was only then that I realized what the substance was.
It was oil.
The rest of the week went smoothly. There was little noise from the Wilkins house, and I was sleeping just fine. It seemed that taking the piano off of Chance's hands worked out better than I expected it to.
I worked overtime last night. I didn't get home until nine, and I was absolutely dead.
After a shower, I decided to start off my weekend with a glass of whiskey.
For kicks, I loaded some of the Wilkins sheet music into the piano.
I listened to various songs for about an hour before I came across one that was far more worn than the others.I figured that probably meant that this specific song was a favorite in the Wilkins household. I was correct.
The song was called Lament. It was the same one playing in Chance's living room the previous week. Right about that time, the whiskey had made its way to my bladder. I slightly turned the music up so that it could follow me to the restroom. I had a little more than I should have, as walking in a straight line had become troublesome.
Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Through my bathroom window, I could make out the shape of a lady in Chance's living room. Though she appeared to be staring back at me, I could not make out her face in the darkness. She swayed back and forth at the hips slowly.
As I finished up, I walked to my lightswitch and flipped it off, but I did not leave. I just stood in the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.
What is with this bitch?
I got a sickening feeling as she slowly tilted her body backwards and slammed her face through the glass. I could now hear the noises she was emitting. Every motion she made was matched by a wet, hydraulic screeching.
I stood still as she advanced. Taking long strides, she clumsily made her way across Chance’s yard and into mine. As she approached my house I was able to make out her face.
Only then did I make the connection. The thing standing in my yard was no person. It was a mannequin. An inanimate object.
Despite that, it seemed to be searching for something, for no movement it made was without purpose.
I backed into my hallway. I didn’t know what to do.
Is there a correct person to call in a situation like this?
I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I must’ve left it on the piano.
The thing's head slowly buzzed in a semicircle until its eyes were fixed on me. I doubted that it could see me through the darkness, yet it seemed to stare right through me. Just then, it lunged at me, breaking into a sprint. I slammed the bathroom door and held it shut as the mannequin came crashing through my window. I heard it writhing about on the floor before clambering to its feet. It began to beat the door down.
Between strikes, it’d push against the door. I could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
And then it spoke.
“ Treat me like a lady!”
It sounded like it spoke through a synthesizer.
“Turn up the music! Treat me like a lady!”
Everything about the way that it spoke was wrong. When people talk, we do so with infliction.
This thing had no infliction. No tone. No soul.
I began to panic as it pushed harder against the door. I could hear its mechanical parts spinning rapidly each time it applied force. It began to pound again. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer.
As I wondered if I should give up and make a break for the front door, I noticed that the mannequin had stopped applying pressure. Unwilling to risk it, I did not let go.
I could hear it moving on the other side, lowering itself to the ground. I stood still.
My heart sank when it slid something under the door. I ignored it, not letting my focus stray from keeping the door shut. I sat there with a death grip on the door for what seemed like hours, but the mannequin made no further attempts on the door.
I could hear it rise to its feet, and leave through the window.
I was hyperventilating. With my head in my hands, I shifted my focus to the floor.
There before me, was Chance’s dry erase board, bearing only two words.
Please don’t

My boy is a 1 year old lab x collie. He’s absolutely bonkers and incredibly smart. For the first 6 months he came back when called the majority of the time for sticks / a ball. I made the mistake of allowing him off-leash freedom too much I think without doing proper recall training.
Now he’s older and I don’t trust him off-leash anymore unless we’re in a fenced off area. He’s doing really well with training but we’re not quite there yet. He still pulls on the lead unless I’m giving treats every couple of seconds but the big one for me is his recall around water.
It’s like he sees open water / the river / sea and becomes completely possessed. He is absolutely mad for it. There are a couple of ponds up our nearby mountain I let him swim in off leash but after an incident where I had to jump in the river after him when he wouldn’t come back and started swimming downstream, I don’t trust him around water anymore and use a longline.
We took him to the beach today and he kept running to the sea, to the end of the longline and nearly yanking my arm out of socket. I wish he’d just chill out a bit and realise he can go in eventually.
Not really sure what’s best to do to de-sensitise him to the MAJOR excitement that is water.
Any tips really helpful!!

me and my boyfriend have both got forms of add/adhd. sometimes we get carried away with things but idk if this is a time to apply that. me and my bf were on a date, and then when things got freaky he invited me back to his place. as soon at the door locked it started getting heated. this was okay, and everything was good. then he moved his hands down my body. i’ve always been weird ab partners touching me and i’ve always said i only feel comfortable over underwear. i told him this and made sure he knew of this. i’ve informed him several times before now and today. he then did what he did which was good for the first few minutes. then one by one his fingers slowly went below where i was comfortable and i told him to stop and he didn’t. i told him two more times and he didn’t. i wasnt quiet and said it quite loud. he only stopped the fourth time i told him then proceeded to smell his hands when i had tears rolling down my face. it was painful. physically and mentally. he then realised and jumped on me, wrapping his arms around me and crying. begging to not break up with him. i put my clothes on and left after a few minutes. i was in utter shock.
i just got off the phone with him. he was begging to stay with him and saying how he hasn’t stopped crying and couldn’t eat since i left. i asked him why he did it and he said he wanted to feel what i felt like. i feel bad for making him feel bad and i don’t know what to feel or do. i feel numb.9

Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.
I who don’t know the secret wrote the line. They told me
(through a third person) they had found it but not what it was not even
what line it was. No doubt by now, more than a week later, they have forgotten the secret,
the line, the name of the poem. I love them for finding what I can’t find,
and for loving me for the line I wrote, and for forgetting it so that
a thousand times, till death finds them, they may discover it again, in other lines
in other happenings. And for wanting to know it, for
assuming there is such a secret, yes, for that most of all.

My BP and I are having trouble with anger and me feeling like it’s not getting anywhere. It’s been a month and a half, (I know it’s still super fresh) I have been in IC for a month now, am learning a lot about why I did what I did, how to avoid feeling that way in the future, and how to better communicate with my partner. I of course am not 100% better with my communication yet but am proud of my progress.
My partner wakes up with anger every morning and I shut down which ultimately makes the anger worse. Our arguments have been getting worse, I’ve been near suicide but he physically stops me before I can carry out with it. I’ve self harmed since the affair. I’ve been having panic attacks but have never had them before. This is eating me up and I feel that he doesn’t even see it. I am trying my best to be there for him, rubbing his back at 3 am and holding him after having a bad dream. He will recognize everything one minute and appreciate all that I am doing and we will go out on a mini date and be intimate then the next morning be back to anger. He says it’s because he does not want to get comfortable and vulnerable because of the extent of the betrayal. I understand. What I did was terrible and I understand if he wants nothing to do with me from here on out so at times I stop fighting for it because he says the same things everytime he’s angry, that he’s going to block me on everything, start talking to other women and detach from me.
My therapist has told me that we should limit the amount of time that we speak on the topic throughout the day as it can become worse and actually hurtful to our relationship as it becomes unproductive after a certain point. We agreed to this but I feel he is still thinking about it the same and it’s just bottling up until it all spills out and I become overwhelmed with his anger.
Neither one of us are getting anything done in our day. I work from home and he takes college classes from home and we both have neglected everything because of the situation as it’s too hard to focus on anything other than the affair and how badly I disrespected him throughout our relationship. I want him to go to IC as well so they can help him sort through the anger and regaining his self worth, whether that mean cutting me out for a better future or not.
I just feel that we are nearing the end and am feeling less hopeful, I am trying to hard to not react in ways that I used to which lead to these problems. Sorry if this is length and doesn’t even make sense, just needed to put my feelings out
(We are not in R, I am letting him decide if he wants to even consider it)

​
It was left at his doorstep three weeks ago, in what might’ve been the sketchiest package delivery I’ve ever seen.
I imagine that the pair of lanky, neckbeard-sporting gentlemen nearly fractured their spines in the process of unloading the thing from their van. Ignoring the dolly, they opted to instead distribute its weight amongst themselves. They each clung to a side of the massive box and awkwardly shuffled across my neighbor's yard.
By the way their knees buckled with each step, I picked the mystery item for a refrigerator. Then again, I’d never known refrigerators to arrive encased in bright pink wrapping paper.
Before I continue, it’s important to note that my neighbor, Chance Wilkins, is mentally handicapped. He hadn’t always been that way, though. His mother, Sally, who owns the house, had shared a bit of information with me regarding his accident.
Years earlier, he had been run off the road by an absent-minded semi driver. He careened into a concrete toll booth at seventy miles per hour, crushing him within an inch of his life. Since the accident, Chance has undergone a dozen surgeries. Everything from reconstructive procedures to an emergency craniectomy as the result of a traumatic brain injury. Though he was able to understand everything that was said to him, he could no longer speak for himself. He would carry a dry erase board with him wherever he went. That way, he could easily and effectively communicate with anybody that he needed to.
Recently, his mother's health had taken a turn for the worse. Alzheimer's disease. It was decided that she would be relocated to a nursing home, and that Chance would try his hand at living independently. For the past few months now, that has been the case.
Living alone didn’t become an issue until about a week after Sally’s departure. I’d witnessed many of Chance's tantrums, but never to the extent that they ultimately got to. My bedroom window is no more than ten feet from his house, so I practically lived there with him. And I could hear fucking everything. Night after night, I’d be awoken by shrill screams, shattering glass, and slamming doors.
Thanks to the anonymity that Reddit offers, I can admit that I’m no angel, and that I wanted to knock on his door and politely ask him to cut the shit. I’ve got a full-time job that requires me to wake up no later than five in the morning and I cannot stand being deprived of my sleep.
However, I was warned by neighbors not to engage him when he gets that way, as it could lead to further issues. And as you can imagine, filing a noise complaint on a handicapped person is never a good look. The truth is, I don’t know what prompted Chance to act out. All that I know is that his tantrums seemed to temporarily cease upon the package's arrival. I’ve never been one to argue with a good thing, but I was damn curious about whatever the hell was in that box.
A few days later, as I was pulling into my driveway after work, I caught him just before he retreated indoors. My curiosity got the better of me. I cranked down the window of my shitty Ford Focus, and called out to him.
“Mr. Wilkins, the man of the hour!” I shouted.
“How are you doing today, man?”
He turned to face me. He was positively beaming. In all my years on Lloyd Street, and all my years of knowing Chance, I had never seen him smile so sincerely.
I smiled back at him.
“That's what I like to see! What's got you so happy, Chance?”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a marker.
He scrawled away on his dry erase board for a while before turning it in my direction.
I have been missing something for a very long time.
I didn’t know what he meant by this, nor did I have opportunity to inquire further. Without falter in his smile, he waved to me, spun on his heels, and walked inside.
I laughed to myself, as this interaction had turned out to be the most pleasant one I’d ever had with him. After all, a happy Chance leads to bountiful rest.
I slept soundly for the next week or sountil the music began.
I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. My AC is broken. It’s on a timer and only spits out hot air most of the time. Annoyed, I reached over and opened my window.
I only noticed it as I was about to drift off again. From the direction of the Wilkins home, It sounded like somebody was playing a piano.
I looked at the clock.
2:58
Wonderful.
Chance had decided that three in the morning was the ideal time to get musical. I turned red. I was so aggravated that I bolted upright and leapt from the bed to grab my shoes.
As I put my jacket on, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. The Wilkins’ living room light was on.
I walked to the window and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell he was getting up to in there. Through it, I could see the piano. My window is so close to their home that I could see the keys bouncing up and down on their own. Sally had mentioned owning a piano that reads sheet music, so I ruled any poltergeist activity out of the equation. Chance would have to answer for this himself.
Suddenly, he entered the living room. I noticed his dog walking sheepishly beside him. Its eyes were transfixed on a couch which faced my opposite. Much like my recent interaction with Chance, he looked cheery. He was smiling, even doing his best to dance to the music.
I sighed audibly, I’m sure.
Who would I be to interfere with such joy? Especially to a man who has been denied so much of it. I reassessed.
And then Chance did something that made me freeze.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marker.
He walked to his dresser, retrieved his dry erase board, and he began writing.
I ducked faster than I knew I could move.
Had I been spotted?
I had that roller coaster feeling in my stomach. The feeling a person gets when they’re caught in a lie.
I slowly inched my way back up the wall and peered out the window once more. Chance’s dry erase board had turned to face me.
I love you
A strange feeling came over me.
Fortunately, Chance's gaze seemed to focus not on me, but on the couch.
There was somebody in that house with him. I returned my attention to the dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Her tail was tucked between her legs, and though she kept her head down, she refused to take her eyes off of the couch for a second. Certainly this person was unfamiliar?
I looked to the driveway, which remained empty. I had been home all weekend and failed to notice anybody other than Chance enter the house.
I took my shoes and jacket off and got back into bed.
As I stared at my ceiling, I thought about how none of this would be so strange if Chance wasn’t such a hermit. I had never seen him socialize with anybody outside of his immediate family. Regardless, he looked happy.
That night, I drifted asleep to the sound of Chance's laughter, which at the time, reaffirmed that I had made the right decision.
I was awoken again. This time by a crashing noise.
I looked at the clock.
It was four in the morning.
I heard the noise again, louder this time.
An odd, mechanical whirr droned from within.
Chance began yelling unintelligibly.
A chill shot down my spine.
What the fuck is going on?
A definite scraping noise slowly moved from one end of the Wilkins house to another.
I looked out of the window. Not a single light was on in the Wilkins home.
Thud…Thud… Thud…
I tried to collect myself.
Suddenly, the piano began to play itself again. And through the pitch-black darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a thin, very tall lady in Chance's living room.
She stood perfectly still before the piano.
Though I was in no danger, I could hear my own heartbeat pulsating through my temples.
I couldn’t look away.
And then she moved.
She made a break for the doorway, taking giant bounding steps. She moved as if she had no articulation below the knees. Like a circus clown on stilts. Despite this, she made ground fast, as evident by the pounding of her footsteps, which tore from the living room to the upstairs.
Chance yelled in protest. I’d heard that tone before. It's the same one he'd use when his mother would drag him out of the house for Church, or cook him something that he didn't like.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again.
The pair had walked back downstairs. They both made their way to the couch and sat down.
For thirty minutes I just watched as they sat there in the dark, with the same song playing over and over and over again.
After work that day, I saw Chance alone on his porch smoking a cigarette.
I got straight to business and pulled into his driveway. I thought long and hard about how to approach the situation, and figured it best to calmly talk it out.
Despite my preparations, I ended up spacing on where to begin, so I just went for it.
“Hey, Chance. Long night?” I asked
He made no attempt for the dry erase board.
He just sat there looking defeated.
“Listen, I’m not angry with you.”
Chance looked up at me, his eyes softened.
His lip began to twitch.
“It’s just that I’ve got a job. I need to wake up early and it's quite difficult to fall asleep while you're hosting a mosh pit in the dead of night.”
“Can we make a compromise? Let's say no piano parties after … eleven?”
That got his attention. He reached for his marker and began to write.
11:00 PM is a perfectly reasonable time to ask for some peace and quiet.
I hoped to god that he would agree to my terms.
Suddenly, Chance stopped writing. He paused for a second and looked up at me.
He erased his message and started over.
It only took him a few seconds.
He turned his dry erase board around so that I could read it.
Just take it, please.
I was taken aback.
I don’t know what sort of response I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.
“You want me to have your piano?” I asked
Chance nodded quickly, giving me a sort of half-smile.
I laughed. “Chance, I can’t take that from you.”
He made a face and raised his hands as if to say “Why not?”
“Well … I’ve got nowhere to put the thing. And I don’t want to take anything from you! I just came here to talk.” I said.
He began scrawling again.
Then sell it. I just want it gone.
He was putting me in an awkward position. I truly wanted nothing to do with his gift, as it seemed like a white elephant. However, I was starting to believe that the going rate for a self-playing piano may be worth my time.
I paused, thinking it over for a moment.
It seemed like a win-win. If I got the piano out of that house, I might be able to avoid any repeats of the previous night. Plus, some extra money in the bank always feels nice, right?
“It uh.. might take me a few days to get some people around. I can’t move the thing by myself.”
Chance looked almost offended. Quickly, he began writing.
His message was clear.
It’s got wheels. I'm stronger than I look.
The look he gave me was screaming “You’re a dick.”
And with that, we headed inside.
The place was an absolute sty. Sally’s gray wallpaper hung from the wall, shredded to bits.
The once spotless hardwood floor was coated in hundreds of black splotches, which I wasn’t eager to dodge with the piano. There were various sized holes punched through the walls, floors, even the ceiling.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.” I said.
Chance rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed.
We each grabbed an end of the piano.
“You sure you want to get rid of this, Chance? It looks pretty expensive.”
I reached down and pressed on a random key.
Just when I did, it sounded as if somebody started a car in the other room.
I jumped. Chance flinched.
“What the fuck was that, Chance?”
He shook his head back and forth rapidly.
I heard the same whirring as I did the previous night.
I got louder
“Chance, answer me please. What the hell is going on?”
Something began to move in the other room. Slowly, I heard it inch its way to the door.
Thud
The door flexed slightly inwards, but did not open.
I turned to face the direction of the noise. Ignoring my manners, I slowly began to walk towards it. I can’t explain the terror that I felt as I neared whatever was on the other side of that door. Just as I reached for the knob, Chance grabbed me by the arm.
I looked at him.
A single tear streamed down his face.
He tugged on my arm twice.
I stared back at him. He looked like he’d seen war.
He tugged on my arm again.
I couldn’t tell if he was warning me or pleading.
A slow scratching noise crept from the top of the doorframe to the bottom, chilling me to my core.
I agreed. I let him direct me back to the piano. Both of our hands shook as we guided it from his property to mine.
We exchanged goodbyes in the driveway.
I was about to finish the job myself. But just before I could push it inside, I noticed something. One of the piano's wheels was coated in the same black substance that covered the Wilkins’ floor.
I decided to spray it with a hose, as I didn’t want to get any closer than I had to.
It was only then that I realized what the substance was.
It was oil.
The rest of the week went smoothly. There was little noise from the Wilkins house, and I was sleeping just fine. It seemed that taking the piano off of Chance's hands worked out better than I expected it to.
I worked overtime last night. I didn't get home until nine, and I was absolutely dead.
After a shower, I decided to start off my weekend with a glass of whiskey.
For kicks, I loaded some of the Wilkins sheet music into the piano.
I listened to various songs for about an hour before I came across one that was far more worn than the others.I figured that probably meant that this specific song was a favorite in the Wilkins household. I was correct.
The song was called Lament. It was the same one playing in Chance's living room the previous week. Right about that time, the whiskey had made its way to my bladder. I slightly turned the music up so that it could follow me to the restroom. I had a little more than I should have, as walking in a straight line had become troublesome.
Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Through my bathroom window, I could make out the shape of a lady in Chance's living room. Though she appeared to be staring back at me, I could not make out her face in the darkness. She swayed back and forth at the hips slowly.
As I finished up, I walked to my lightswitch and flipped it off, but I did not leave. I just stood in the bathroom, shrouded in darkness.
What is with this bitch?
I got a sickening feeling as she slowly tilted her body backwards and slammed her face through the glass. I could now hear the noises she was emitting. Every motion she made was matched by a wet, hydraulic screeching.
I stood still as she advanced. Taking long strides, she clumsily made her way across Chance’s yard and into mine. As she approached my house I was able to make out her face.
Only then did I make the connection. The thing standing in my yard was no person. It was a mannequin. An inanimate object.
Despite that, it seemed to be searching for something, for no movement it made was without purpose.
I backed into my hallway. I didn’t know what to do.
Is there a correct person to call in a situation like this?
I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I must’ve left it on the piano.
The thing's head slowly buzzed in a semicircle until its eyes were fixed on me. I doubted that it could see me through the darkness, yet it seemed to stare right through me. Just then, it lunged at me, breaking into a sprint. I slammed the bathroom door and held it shut as the mannequin came crashing through my window. I heard it writhing about on the floor before clambering to its feet. It began to beat the door down.
Between strikes, it’d push against the door. I could hear the wood beginning to splinter.
And then it spoke.
“ Treat me like a lady!”
It sounded like it spoke through a synthesizer.
“Turn up the music! Treat me like a lady!”
Everything about the way that it spoke was wrong. When people talk, we do so with infliction.
This thing had no infliction. No tone. No soul.
I began to panic as it pushed harder against the door. I could hear its mechanical parts spinning rapidly each time it applied force. It began to pound again. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer.
As I wondered if I should give up and make a break for the front door, I noticed that the mannequin had stopped applying pressure. Unwilling to risk it, I did not let go.
I could hear it moving on the other side, lowering itself to the ground. I stood still.
My heart sank when it slid something under the door. I ignored it, not letting my focus stray from keeping the door shut. I sat there with a death grip on the door for what seemed like hours, but the mannequin made no further attempts on the door.
I could hear it rise to its feet, and leave through the window.
I was hyperventilating. With my head in my hands, I shifted my focus to the floor.
There before me, was Chance’s dry erase board, bearing only two words.
Please don’t

My (NB, 24) ex-partner’s (NB, 23) actions are confusing to me. We remained friends despite some of the things they did toward the end of the relationship (November) that were really hurtful. I healed independently and had to learn to accept that our relationship had changed. Between January and the start of March, I had to accept on and off that they were hot and cold and that they would go days or weeks without talking to me, and it really broke my heart. It took a really long time to recover from this. I started reaching out less in March, and slowly started to feel better. I’ve been doing pretty alright for the last two or three weeks, and am definitely doing a lot better than I was in January, when I reached my lowest point after learning that they had been flirting with a much older man who was “just a friend” for months, including before the breakup.
The last two weeks, they started reaching out again a lot more regularly. I thought it was kind of a surprise and didn’t really look into it very much. I’ve been practicing detachment. Last week, they said they missed me, and I casually said I missed them too. I do miss them. I had to mourn our friendship between January-March when it felt like things were disappearing entirely between us. A few days ago, they said it again. And today we talked on the phone. It was really pleasant. It’s just confusing that sometimes it feels like they’re using the same language they used during the relationship, even though we’re not in one anymore. I know it’s my responsibility to set this boundary, but it feels like a strange one to set. It doesn’t necessarily feel like they’re doing anything “wrong.” I think I’m just upset because of the way things ended, and that it seems like now that they’re feeling a little bit better (and discovered that the middle aged man, though good looking, is apparently a “freak”) they’re returning to their second choice, who was always comforting and supportive and patient, without acknowledging how fucked up I was after the breakup and after learning about their flirtationship by literally witnessing them straddling him and petting his hair in a public bar when all of us were drunk.
I guess I’m just a little sad and confused. I had accepted that we would be “Instagram, sharing reels only” type of friends and made my peace with it. Now I’m back to puzzling out their unclear intentions, and still without having fully recovered from all the bullshit they put me through with the older man, who I still kind of hate. They basically said “yeah, I thought he was cool at first ngl, but he’s a freak. But he’s pretty though I’ll admit because I have eyes.” And they still see him at trivia nights once a week.
It all just kind of sucks.
I know that the sound thing to do would be to block them entirely. I’ve known for months. It’s just not something that I’m capable of right now. I do genuinely wish that under better circumstances we could have remained close friends. Unfortunately, learning about the flirtationship in January just really wounded me and left me blindsided and recovering, and for months I’ve wondered if I’m even capable of being a friend to them at all. I would really like to continue trying, because they were a really important person in my life for years. But maybe I’m not all that capable of it. Idk.
Glad they’re doing better though. They’ve been going to classes, trivia nights, cooking again, cleaning, etc. Talking to me regularly again might be part of their “coming out of a depressive episode” recovery. It’s just pretty brutal that they inflicted so much devastating damage when they were in that episode. I don’t really know how to talk to them anymore.

I’m a virgin so no possibility of me being pregnant. I have a history of amenorrhea brought on by PCOS. I traveled for the first time back in late March and then immediately worked eleven days straight once I got back. I felt my body trying to have a period but it’s like it’s stuck and I’m not sure if I should bite the bullet, get seen by a doctor, some labs drawn and have provera prescribed to help my cycle come but then it wouldn’t feel like a real bleed.
It seems silly, but in the way most women who struggle with infertility and can be envious of other women who don’t have the same issue… that’s how I feel with anyone with a menstrual cycle.
I don’t know what I did. But at least I’m a regular in the bathroom.
25/F/USA

Sorry to add onto the negative spiral that this sub gets into sometimes. I just wanted to vent as well.
So me, I’d consider myself a sexual person. I watch porn regularly. I like fashion that intersects with fetish attire. I want to try a number of moderately sexual things one day, like go to a torture garden party or a nude beach. And one day when I have a relationship, I’d like to have a good sex life with that hypothetical bf.
I look at Twitter and see all the other gay men saying these things about sex and relationships and kinks that spark a sense of connection in my brain. I see people on my ameture nsfw videos doing stuff that looks fun that I wish I could do one day. Feeling so hopeful for the future because I know it’s possible for me…
And then, it dawns on me…
oh right, I don’t have a penis!
Hopes and dreams crushed. Not even horny anymore, just sexually frustrated. It’s like wearing a chastity cage except the key is just gone forever. I feel so sad that I can’t just grab my dick and jerk off. I feel so sad that I can’t just go to an event wearing tight shorts or have a bulge. I feel so sad that I can’t be intimate with another man right now (I don’t want to be, currently as I am).
I feel so broken, like my penis was unfairly taken from me. It’s not fair that I can’t express my sexuality the way other men can. It makes me so mad when I read personals of other people who I’d like to talk to and then I remember my lack of dick is a major compatibility concern. It’s so much easier for cis men. They don’t have to fight and shell out thousands for their dicks like we do.
I’m not jealous of cis men, I just wish things didn’t have to be so difficult. I want to get phallo asap but nobody in my city does electrolysis. Nobody in my area even does hysto for trans men here.
Soo, I just have to wait. Just waiting. And hoping our medical rights don’t get taken away by the right lol. But yeah, waiting 😑

Hey guys so I’m 100 P&T, single and no dependents(yet). My debt is pretty minimal, only like $4000 left on my car loan, my credit score is in the low 800s. I have nearly $30,000 in my bank and I have a constant flow of $3,600 a month….
I want to work but I don’t want to be a corporate hamster on the wheel and have some corporate douchebro tell me “we’re like family here 🤓” because my true family is either drinking at the long table in Valhalla or terrorizing some Applebees in the middle of bumfuck North Carolina.
Anyhow, given my situation, what would any of you recommend as someone who wants to purchase a business/franchise…and are there any resources for veterans?

I hurt him. But in yearning, shame and guilt I ask, please come back.
We were both damaged by the instability, I understand. Forlorn. Cast down. Exasperated. I know why he had to leave at the time he did. I let my illness rule me. I often didn’t treat him the way that I should have if I truly loved him. I didn’t lie, yet I didn’t listen. I listened to this destructive disorder instead.
He was patient but I still broke many boundaries, I pushed him, I pulled him. Whilst I was so caring interested, passionate and a bundle of joy, in a flick of a switch I could become so entitled, capricious, hot-tempered and stubborn. To turn back time would be my life’s wish. I could've stopped. I could've taken space. I could've taken a breath. I could've applied the techniques I apparently knew so well. I could've listened. I always apologised, but that doesn't matter. Apologies are empty when actions don't change. I watched myself put gasoline over my life and set it on fire.
I’ve finally begun the therapy. I’ve finally begun working on myself. But I didn't do it when I most needed to. I know it's perhaps too late for us now, but I do promise that I'm becoming a better, more stable person. I'm not complacent, I'm not in denial. I am healing for me, for him, for everyone who ever enters my life and most importantly, for my future. I wish I could heal his hurt. I know he's so broken by this. Our hearts are shattered. I hope he'd give me another chance as I heal myself, but perhaps he'll never want to see me again, I understand. The love between us could still flood the world but the foundations are out of sight. I broke them with my bulldozer of emotions. I wish we could build that house again.
L, I miss you so much. You know that I always dream about you. I always think about you. I feel you all day. But I turn to you and you are gone. I want to see your gorgeous face, your dark, wavy hair, your smile that I love so much. I want to feel your hands on my thighs, my waist, my face, your touch. I want to hear your cheerful laugh, your lulling voice, for you to say my name. Please hold me, kiss me, be with me again.
You are the kindest person I've ever met. You were one of the only people who understood me so deeply. We could talk to each other without words. We were so comfortable, at home in each other's arms. You're so giving, open-minded, devoted, affectionate, intelligent, hilarious. I lost that. Because of me.
I’m so sorry that I spoiled such a special thing. I love you. I hope you’ll love again and selfishly, it will be me, again. I hope that you can trust me now or maybe return to me as I embark on my healing journey. I would love to get to know you again and to never, ever repeat that cycle. I'm so sorry.

Ajax
So I have 2 html pages. 1 that functions as container and 1 that functions as content.When I load the content page with a table I'm able to use drag and drop.
But when I go to my container page and load the content page into a div with ajax, the drag and drop stops working. All other javascript functionalities inside the content page still work. How can I bind the jquery dnd plugin to the table loaded with ajax?
I'm using drag & drop with this as tutorial http://isocra.com/2008/02/table-drag-and-drop-jquery-plugin/
my code looks like this:
$(window).load(function(){ if(temp == 0) { DP("eerste keer") load\_table(); temp = 1; }} );function load\_table(){ DP('load\_table'); $.ajax({ //async: false, type: "POST", url: "/diagnose\_hoofdpagina/table\_diagnose/" + DosierID, // <== loads requested page success: function (data) { $("#diagnoses\_zelf").html(''); //<== clears current content of div $("#diagnoses\_zelf").append(data).trigger('create'); // <== appends requested page }, error: function(){ alert('error'); } }).done(function() { update\_table(); initialize\_table(); // <== calls jquery plug in }); return false; }function initialize\_table() { var tableid = $('#diagnoses\_zelf table').attr('id'); //< this finds the correct table thanks to Fábio Batista => this option worked, rest didn't alert(tableid); $(tableid).tableDnD({ onDrop: function(table, row) { alert(table + " " + row); }, onDragStart: function(table,row){ var tette = $(row).index; alert(tette); }, dragHandle: ".dragHandle" }); } 
How is this possible and what can I do about it?Can anyone help me with this please.
Very short:I want access to the ID of the table I load into my container page with ajax and use the jquery drag and drop plug in on it.
EDIT
Findings:
Somehow my table in the container page got renamed to pSqlaTable instead of the id I gave to it in the controller page which is.
Thats why the code couldn't find the table annymore Got fixed by this code thanks to Fábio Batista:
$('#diagnoses\_zelf table').tableDnD( ... ); , but how can I use the dnd plugin now ?
It finds the table now, but I'm still not able to bind the dnd plugin to it, Am I able to bind a jquery plug in to ajax loaded tables ?
EDIT
//drag & drop http://isocra.com/2008/02/table-drag-and-drop-jquery-plugin/function initialize\_table() { var tableid = $('#diagnoses\_zelf table').attr('id'); alert(tableid); $('#' + tableid).tableDnD({ onDrop: function(table, row) { alert(table + " " + row); }, onDragStart: function(table,row){ alert('issemer?'); }, dragHandle: ".dragHandle" }); } This is the code i'm still stuck with. tableid is correct but the initialisation of the jquery isn't. I can't drag the drows in the table. Is my syntax wrong ?
EDIT
Could it be that I can't bind the jquery to the table because I dynamicaly generate the table on the other page with ZPT (or javascript) ?
Answer link : https://codehunter.cc/a/ajax/cant-find-element-in-dom-after-loading-it-with-ajax-want-to-bind-jquery-plug-in-to-it
submitted by code_hunter_cc to codehunter [link][comments]

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2023.04.01 22:39 allthe_angels [Offer] To anyone needing some cheer: 4 cards + goodies for 4 lovely friends! [US to US]

submitted by allthe_angels to RandomActsofCards [link][comments]

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2023.04.01 22:39 nightshadefrog Has anyone else ever received a diagnosis in a “different” way?

submitted by nightshadefrog to autism [link][comments]

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2023.04.01 22:39 LowEntertainment5800 I don’t want sex with my girlfriend anymore

submitted by LowEntertainment5800 to sex [link][comments]

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