Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

okay so this isn't a sad story or anything but I just need a few gift ideas for my boyfriendddd. our 1 year anniversary is coming up but I have no clue what to get him. the past months we've been together, I got him all the gifts he's wanted. I've asked him what he wants but he says he isn't sure himself on what he wants. I already planned out a date at a restaurant and a lil picnic date at the park but I feel like it might not be enough. does anyone have any other ideas for what else I could do to make it really special for him? :')

So I saw this guy a few months ago at school since we have the same club. I'm a transferee that came from an all-boys school and we're both in our second year of high school right now. I had to ask one of my close girl besties (calling this specific one AN) to help me find out what he likes so that I could hopefully ask him out, and she did find out he was gay. I got to know what he likes to eat, where he lived, how good were his grades in his classes, those kind of sorts.

Then just 2 weeks ago I planned to ask him out, and AN helped me get everything I needed just so I could hear him say 'yes'.

But when I confessed to him (calling him AR), he said he already knew and was still thinking about it. Because someone leaked my plans to him (this wasn't AN who leaked, I checked it already). I said I'd respect his decision even when he said no and until I received an answer from him directly, I'd keep my distance. And I did. Fast forward next week, and he said he didn't think we would work out.

So I continued to keep my distance from him. Then just yesterday. AN said AR asked her out.

She said yes, and said AR was straight now.

I don't know why he said no to me, not even giving it more than a week, then moving on to someone else. I still made sure to keep my distance from him (which means keeping my distance from AN as well), but I just don't think it's normal for people to take that short to move on. I just don't think it's fair that AN got to have the boyfriend that I couldn't get. Because I'm new to him. But AN and AR had a year to get to know each other.

I had a crush on this one guy back at my old school (calling him BA, yes it's the same person as the one in the story I had made a few months ago), and I don't know which is worse: having a crush on a guy for 2 years without saying it out loud to him, or finally asking someone out only for them to say no.

So it got me thinking.

Why does it still not matter?

Even when I try and put effort, or when I just love them silently,

they all find someone new. And that someone just ain't me.

When will I get to experience the joy of having someone else to love?

Because I left my family a long ass time ago.

They still can't love me.

I can deal with that.

But whenever I find someone new?

I wish we can just be together right then and there.

I feel so selfish whenever I do feel and have thoughts like these, however, I just feel like no one truly understands me. Maybe it's because I've never felt comfortable enough to really be myself, but sometimes I just feel like I'm the odd one out. I've never had those types of friendships where we would call or hang out outside of school. Maybe it's self-centeredness, but I always feel like a second friend or just a back-up. Never as the priority. Yes, I do have friends, but I just don't think our conversations flow smoothly how others do. Or it might just be that we don't have the same interests. I envy friendships where it's easygoing and they can go back-and-forth. Or just understanding each other. I always smile and try to keep the mood light during the school day, but deep down, I feel empty, like what's my purpose in life? Do I even exist in other people's worlds? Do people like me? Or think of me? I get these feelings of a heart dropping or panging occasionally, and I don't know where it comes from, maybe just a sudden wave of sadness. Sometimes I want to hit myself for having these thoughts because I should be grateful for my current friends and family, but I really don't know. I would consider myself happy, but maybe there's a lack of fulfillment somewhere in my life? This rant is probably meaningless, but I just wanted somewhere to vent. Thanks.

It's a real story from a few years ago. About my dog Dakota.

I went to the animal shelter with my mom. We were going there cause I asked to see the cats. I had a cat at the time name Crystal. I think I was around 10 during this time.

As I was looking at all the fresh faces of the cute kitties.

There was this crate in the lobby.

Poor little guy was brought back by their owner due to the owners mom having cancer or something. Which I could totally relate to in the future.

But back to the story.

My mom was near the crate. She peered inside. Then boop! A small nose popped outta the tiny mountain of blankets. Then the rest of the snout, then Dakota's large, brown, cute eyes found my mom's. He then popped his whole head outta the blankets. He has one ear up and one ear flopped down. He had a white diamond shaped fur patch on his forehead. Sorta like the pretty jewel things that Indian cultured people wear. But this fur patch was just part of his pattern.

He was so cute and tiny. A Chihuahua mix. I think he was round 6 months old. But tiny.

My mom instantly bonded with the little guy!

All this happened while I was looking at the cats.

When it was time to leave... As I was skipping down the steps. My mom stopped. She looked at me. I stopped. I looked at her. And she said, "do you wanna get a dog?" I thought she was joking. So I sorta laughed it off. Cause my mom wasn't known to be spontaneous. At least not that I knew of.

When I realized that she was serious... I jumped for joy, bounded up the stairs. We got the little tot. And the rest was history.

Until 5 years later...

Dakota was know to use his nose a lot. Smelled anything, anyone, and any-any, until he smelled the wrong thing.

A pile of fungus.

It went to his brain. He couldn't walk. Couldn't eat. Wouldn't hold his fluids.

So, we had to put him down. Actually... My mom had to at the Vets. I couldn't be in the room due to the stress.

Over the years, my mom and I always said, "it was his nose that brought him to us, and it was his nose that took him away".

So, be careful with your pets out there. And watch out for fungus. They're not good for the brain!!

It's currently 4.30 am. And i can't sleep because of guilt. Because i haven't done any of the things I was supposed to and i feel like i dissapointed myself and i'm afraid i'm dissapointing others too. I wanted this year to be different, to not get myself in the same mess, but i made and even worse mess in the end. I've been feeling so tired and burnt out for almost two years now and i've trying to get out of It since, i've tried routines, habits, apps, everything to be more productive and actually get back on track but It Just keeps failing. I feel tired, and end up procrastinating and then i get anxious, start pacing around or scrolling and hiding in bed, and then i can't sleep at night knowing i'm ruining everything. My grades are only getting worse and i feel like i'm failing. And i feel so stupid. Because It should be easy. It was easy before. But then i messed everything up. And now i can't fix. Now more and more things are coming up. People expect things from me, and i don't even know where to start. My Mom expects me to at least be decent in school but i can't even do that. There are lot of tests right now and their all going worse than the other. I was forced to make the PowerPoints in out study group even though i said no. Multiple times. And i got set up to do even heavier lifting in the journaling club of school, and now i'm supposed to set up whole thing. When my 'mentor', the one who's supposed to teach me, ghosted me and hasn't done anything to start or help at all. I know It's my fault but i Just feel so tired. It's all too much and i'm too stupid to handle It. I can't do this. I Just want to hide.

She used to be outgoing, growing her confidence with dresses and feminine clothing again and taking me out places with her.. she even did her makeup again after years without it cause she was feeling herself, even getting her nails done. She even took me out on a girls day just me and her and we had a great time.

Fast forward, she got a boyfriend. Locked in her room 24/7, always on FaceTime or regular call with him, there’s a camera in my moms room now that was put there by her boyfriend.. a whole situation happened where my, my mom, and my grandma all stood at my aunts house for a couple of days because of my moms bf and “safety reasons”.. he was drunk on beer when he introduced me and his daughter, and there’s more but it goes on.

Since they got together I’ve I guess you can say “observed”.. or “eavesdropped” a lot on their conversations since they’re usually loud even on the phone since he’s not allowed at my house (we live with my grandma and she said he’s not allowed). Here are things I’ve picked up that I think are both concerning and childish. For the record I’m 15, turning 16 June 15th of this year.

1 - He constantly accuses my mom of cheating and even assumes there’s a guy with her even if it’s just me and he doesn’t know I’m there

2 - He seems constantly insecure, telling my mom to go to her room and stay in there. She can barely respond to my texts because he’ll assume that my mom is texting another guy even when it’s her own daughter.

3 - He’ll talk to my mom sexually even when I’m around but I sort of assume that’s normal since my mom does the same..

4 - I peeked over my moms shoulder when she was texting at my therapist appointment and the words said “I belong to you” “you own me” because he was assuming my mom was cheating even though we were waiting in the place I go for therapy.. and he said “have fun with him” or something like that and she said “what’s fun about being in mental health”. I feel guilty but I also know it’s not my fault.

5 - This one is connected to the reason I had stood with my aunt over the weekend. She texted her boyfriend saying “I forgave you the first time for choking me”. This was I think a month ago now?? Idk.

Those are only some of the things and here are things about my mother. (She only does this when talking to a guy she’s with)

1 - She’ll tell men she’s on call with if I’m about to get my period or if I’m on my period whenever I mention that I’m cramping or I need pads and taking some of hers..

2 - She’ll make sexual gestures, phrases, jokes, etc around me and I’m not sure if that’s normal or if she’s just comfortable enough around me to do that sort of thing with the guys she’s with or on call with whoever she’s talking to at the time.

3 - She’ll talk to me about her sexual experiences and had told me about it when I was I believe 14? I’m not sure.. it could’ve been just beginning of this year.

4 - She’ll put me in view of the FaceTime knowing I’m uncomfortable with it but just to show her boyfriend that she’s not with another man.

I miss who my mom used to be.. it felt like it was me and her against the world but now it’s like she doesn’t even respond to me unless it’s to unlock the door for her since my aunt changed the lock on my door and didn’t give my mom a key because she chose her boyfriend. I feel like she’s so blinded by the idea of love that it’s suffocating and it’s like she can’t see past that and realize what it’s doing to the family.. choosing your boyfriend just because what he’s a “middle school sweetheart”? Yeah a guy who also “allegedly” put his hands on you, a guy who won’t stop accusing you of cheating, a guy who has you on camera 25/8, a guy who can’t respect your privacy and has you showing your hands so he knows you’re not “texting another guy”, a guy who accuses you of being with another man even when I’m in the room, a guy who you told “I don’t even use my fingers that’s how loyal I am” when I was right beside you in the same room, a guy you told “I only trust you”, a guy who was drunk off of beer when he introduced me and his daughter, a guy you claimed to have broken up with because he accused you of cheating so much and told you to 💀 but then got back together with him because it was a misunderstanding. She won’t even come to my room anymore to see me. She only texts me to open the door for her or when I am around her she’s talking on the phone and not with me. And she always has her phone on the entire room so he doesn’t accuse her of cheating even when I’m visibly uncomfortable.

This is a long rant but I had to get it off my chest..

I fucked up, and there is no polite or delicate way to phrase that, so I shall simply admit it outright: I cheated on my boyfriend, the man who has been nothing but loyal, generous, and patient with me for the past two years, the man who has shown me a stability I honestly never believed I deserved. I am twenty-five, he is thirty-two, and somehow we made it work, despite our differences in age, character, and temperament. Our life together is not some pathetic fantasy, it is real, concrete: we share mornings, dinners, moments of silence, the dull routines that, ironically, are the foundations of happiness. And yet, in one miserable night, soaked with alcohol, foolish laughter, and the kind of reckless bravado that makes people believe they are untouchable, I allowed myself to betray him. I was drunk, yes, but that excuse is thin, pathetic, barely a fig leaf for my own conscious decision to let another man touch me, kiss me, fuck me. I woke up the next day with the stench of someone else’s body clinging to mine, with a splitting headache and a gut full of disgust. Have you ever stared at yourself in the mirror and seen not your face but only the lies you will soon have to tell? That was me. My first thought was not even about what I had done, but about how I could possibly pretend it had never happened, and isn’t that the most revolting detail of all? That my instinct was to hide, to bury the truth, to spit on his trust while smiling at him over morning coffee.

Now I am stuck in this vile space between confession and concealment, and neither path seems bearable. To confess would be to throw a grenade into our shared life, to obliterate all the good moments, to shatter his sense of safety, to perhaps lose the one person who has ever truly made me feel like I was worth more than the sum of my reckless impulses. But to hide it? To swallow this filth and act as though nothing occurred? That would mean rotting from within, keeping a secret that gnaws at every embrace, every kiss, every “I love you.” And which is worse? To kill something with blunt force or to poison it slowly? I keep replaying the night, trying to find some crack in the memory where I might have stopped myself, where I might have said no, but instead I only see my drunk, stupid grin and the rush of feeling desired by someone new, someone meaningless. Do you know that absurd thrill, that tiny, stupid surge of ego when a stranger wants you? That was all it took for me to throw away my dignity. And for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I gained no satisfaction, no joy, no sense of fulfillment—only guilt that drips like acid through every second I spend with him now. He looks at me with those calm, patient eyes, and I want to scream, to confess, to throw myself at his feet, yet I choke on cowardice. It is ridiculous, but even in my own shame, I feel a twisted sort of hope, as if perhaps this mistake might shock me awake, force me to grow up, to stop treating life like some chaotic experiment. Maybe the very act of ruining something reminds you how precious it actually is.

So what do I do, really? Do I unload this shitstorm into his lap, admit everything, beg for forgiveness, knowing full well he might walk out and never look back? Or do I take this filthy secret to my grave, let it burn me in private, and in return keep the life we built intact? I am not some saint, clearly, but neither do I believe I am a monster, and maybe that’s why I cling to the thought that redemption might still be possible. I cannot decide if honesty here is noble or selfish, because confessing could easily be seen as nothing more than trying to ease my own conscience while dumping the pain onto him. Hiding it could be argued as protecting him from useless suffering, yet is it not arrogant to assume I have the right to make that choice for him? Fuck, it is a twisted dilemma, one that I suspect many would simplify with “just tell him” or “just shut up,” but reality is never that neat. Life is messy, human beings are messy, and love—even the strongest, most mature love—has cracks that appear when you least expect them. Despite everything, I still believe in us, still believe that we can survive my stupidity, though I am uncertain of the method. Maybe this betrayal is not the end but the grotesque wake-up call I needed to finally stop taking him, and myself, for granted. Perhaps the future is not destroyed but simply altered, and maybe, just maybe, there is a chance to rebuild something stronger on the ruins of my failure. Or am I just lying to myself to soften the blow? Would you, in my place, confess and risk it all, or would you stay silent and fight like hell to make every future moment worth the guilt? 🤷‍♂️

Originally from the Midwest and now residing in the heart of Georgia, my demeanor starkly contrasts with the genteel mannerisms usually found in the South. While I hail from a region where forthrightness is common, it’s not the cordial type often seen in those with Canadian heritage—it’s more of a blunt, straightforward attitude that doesn’t always prioritize politeness. Since relocating, though, I've learned to adjust somewhat and can often manage a stern yet non-hostile smile in situations that call for it.

I recall a day when my friend and I decided to dine at a local eatery, which was experiencing an unusually slow afternoon. Being one of just four occupied tables with a full team of staff on hand, it seemed unreasonable when our simple order of two sandwiches took an agonizing 45 minutes. When the food arrived, it was cold, soggy, and bland, a clear sign of underwhelming effort in the kitchen. Despite our disappointment, I wasn’t inclined to send the food back as it seemed futile. I merely wished to settle the bill for our unsatisfactory meal and leave.

Soon, our waitress checked in to ask if everything was satisfactory with our meal. With my firm but polite grin, I confessed, "No, it really kind of sucked. Could I get the check, please?" She appeared slightly disconcerted and scurried off to fetch the manager despite my protests. My friend, meanwhile, was mortified by the unfolding events, seemingly embarrassed by my forwardness.

When the manager approached us to inquire further, I reiterated my concerns about the meal, maintaining composure and civility throughout the interaction. He dismissively offered to waive the charges, but I declined, aiming not to sour our relationship with a restaurant we frequented. My friend later questioned why I voiced my dissatisfaction if I didn’t want compensation, to which I responded, "Because they asked." He often reminds me not to stir trouble anecdotally referring to me as 'Karen.'

Another incident that might shed more light on my character involved a situation at a party where a guest had blocked my car. Rather than apologise for requesting he move it, I simply asked straightforwardly. This too, didn’t sit well with my friend, who felt it was necessary to cite as further proof of my supposed 'Karenness.'

Would the dynamics be different if this happened on a reality television show? With cameras rolling, my forthrightness could either be portrayed as refreshing honesty or as unnecessarily harsh, depending on the viewer's perspective. Would the audience applaud the candidness or criticize the lack of softening typical Southern charm? Reality shows thrive on conflict and character, and personalities like mine are often polarizing, sparking debates amongst viewers on social decency versus authenticity.

Am I truly the antagonist for embracing bluntness in a culture that veils its criticisms in sweet tea and smiles? Am I a "Karen" in this story?

I don’t know when exactly I started feeling like this, but lately, everything just feels heavy, like I am carrying a weight that nobody else can see, and no matter how much I try to shake it off, it just stays there. I wake up, go through the motions, smile when I need to, pretend everything is fine, but deep down, I keep wondering what the point of all this even is. What are the reasons to live when everything feels like too much? It is like my brain keeps whispering that nothing really matters, that I am just stuck in some cycle of existing without actually living. And maybe that is why I started thinking about reasons to live, because I know there have to be some, even if they feel impossible to see right now. The first reason, I guess, is that feelings are temporary. I have had bad days before, bad months even, and I got through them. I know I won’t always feel this way, even if my mind tries to tell me I will. The second reason is that there are still things I have not experienced, and I don’t want to leave without knowing what is out there. Maybe there is a city I have never been to that would make me feel alive in a way I never imagined. Maybe there is a song I have not heard yet that will give me chills or a book I will get lost in. Maybe there is a person I have not met yet who will change my whole life. And even if it takes time to find those things, I think they are worth waiting for. The third reason is the people who care about me, even if I sometimes convince myself they don’t. I know that if I disappeared, there would be people who would feel the weight of that forever, and I don’t want to be the reason someone else carries this kind of pain. The fourth reason is that I still have choices. As much as it feels like I am stuck, I know that life does not have to stay the same. If I hate my job, I can change it. If I feel lonely, I can try to reach out. If my life feels empty, I can fill it with new things. Nothing is set in stone, and that means there is always a way forward, even if I don’t see it yet. The fifth reason is that I have survived everything that has tried to break me so far, and that means I am stronger than I give myself credit for. If I made it through all the hard days before this, then maybe, just maybe, I can make it through this too. The sixth reason is that life is unpredictable, and while that can be terrifying, it also means that things can change in ways I never expect. A year from now, I could be in a completely different place, with different people, feeling completely different than I do now. And if there is even a small chance of that, then maybe I owe it to myself to stick around and see what happens. The seventh reason is that I don’t want my story to end like this. I don’t want this to be the final chapter. I don’t know what comes next, but I want to find out. Maybe the reasons to live aren’t always loud and obvious. Maybe they are just little things, like feeling the sun on my skin, drinking a cup of coffee in the morning, hearing my favorite song at the perfect moment. Maybe they are things I haven’t even thought of yet. But they are there, even when I can’t see them, and I am trying to hold onto them, even when everything in me wants to let go.

I've always been somewhat of a recluse, deliberately steering clear of social media and generally shying away from the spotlight. My wife knows this well, yet she refrains from uploading my photos online, though I’ve never explicitly forbidden her from doing so. I’ve always preferred simple, quiet celebrations for events like Father’s Day or my own birthday, keeping any unnecessary attention at bay.

Recently, I was diagnosed with a very treatable form of skin cancer. Detected early, the prognosis was excellent, with a negligible risk of serious consequences. As an engineer, I approached the situation with a level of detachment, comforted by the statistics and my doctor’s positive outlook. Naturally, I confided in my wife, who became overwhelmingly concerned despite my reassurances. We decided that it would be best to keep our children in the dark about my condition, sparing them any worry over something I believed to be a minor issue. My wife reluctantly agreed.

However, just days later my father contacted me, alarmingly inquired about my “battle with cancer.” It appeared that my wife had disclosed my diagnosis on Facebook that morning. When confronted, she defended her actions by claiming I hadn’t specifically asked her not to share it online, only to avoid telling our children. Frustrated but resolute, I convinced her to remove the post.

My treatment progressed smoothly, and soon, I was officially in remission. My doctor cheerfully informed me that while they avoid saying "cured," effectively, I was. Overjoyed, my wife and I hoped to move past this chapter. Or so I thought.

This past weekend, I arrived home to find a street bustling with cars and many more parked in my driveway. Confused, since no significant dates had come to mind, I entered the house only to be greeted by a surprise party celebrating my remission. I was completely taken aback – my wife knew my stance on surprise gatherings and yet had organized one for something I considered deeply personal. Claiming a sudden need to return to the office, I quickly excused myself, grabbed a few inconsequential files from my study, thanked the guests, and left. Later, my wife confronted me, leading to an argument where I expressed my disapproval of her turning a personal milestone into a public celebration.

Following the incident, there's been a noticeable tension between us. My brother even called me out, labeling me an 'asshole' for my reaction, suggesting I was too harsh.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality show. Viewers would probably be divided, some sympathizing with my need for privacy, while others might argue that my wife’s actions, though misguided, were rooted in love and deserved a more gracious response from me. It could have become a classic episode filled with conflict, emotional interviews, and maybe even a reconciliation scene, grabbing the audience’s attention with genuine, raw human experience.

Am I wrong for feeling upset about my wife's public celebration of my private health matter?

We all have those times when we take a good long look at our lives and think, "Wow, my family is basically toxic." Yeah, that’s me, sitting here at 17, kind of over all the crap I’ve had to deal with since I was little; like, when did it become completely normal for people who are supposed to love and support you to treat you like you’re some low-life piece of trash? I mean, seriously? It’s been this way as far back as I can remember, and sometimes I wonder if anyone else feels like this or if it’s just me – does anyone else out there have a family that just doesn’t know how to be nice? It’s like I’ve been living in a sitcom that got canceled after one season, with a cast of characters who just can’t figure out how to act right. I constantly find myself waiting for the finish line of high school to come into sight because that’s when I know I can finally break free. You know, the moment where I can just stand up and say, “Screw you all! I’m outta here!” But here I am, still enduring endless lectures from my parents about how I’m not good enough or how I need to shape up because apparently, my life goals were decided by them when they thought having kids would be a walk in the park. How do they expect me to thrive when I feel suffocated by all their demands? It’s maddening! It’s disheartening to think that I’m surrounded by people who don’t even see my potential, who seem to want to keep me small and miserable. Like, where’s the understanding? Where’s the compassion? Where’s the basic human decency? I’ve tried to talk to them about how I feel, but every time I open my mouth, it’s like throwing a paper plane into a hurricane; all it does is get torn apart and blown away. Have you ever had a conversation that felt like you were speaking a completely different language? I can’t count the number of times I’ve faced resentment just for wanting to express my thoughts. It’s as if my voice doesn't even exist; it’s frustrating because I have dreams, aspirations, actual plans of how to better my life. I want to work hard and make something of myself, but instead of encouragement, I get subjected to eye rolls and dismissive comments. It’s unhealthy and toxic, and there’s no other way to put it! Honestly, I’d rather be alone than in a house where I’m constantly reminded of my so-called shortcomings; I have no clue how they think this is going to help me in the long run. And, sure, they say they care; of course, they do! But their version of care seems to be wrapped in criticism and negativity, which makes me roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t see my brain. There’s nothing quite like feeling like the black sheep of the family, which is ironic because I sometimes wish I could turn into a literal sheep and just roam peacefully, far away from all the chaos. Even when we’re all sitting together for dinner, it feels like a battleground where every stare cuts deeper than a knife. You can cut the tension with a knife; it’s palpable! The silences are more deafening than the arguments, where everyone just eats in a hollow, uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other’s gazes like I'm some kind of alien invading their planet; and for what? I’m just trying to survive here! I guess the only silver lining is that I’m learning resilience. I’m becoming stronger with each drama-filled day. I’m looking forward to the moment I can fly away and create a life that is mine, free from emotional blackmail; it’s almost like my own personal rebellion! I keep reminding myself that this toxic environment doesn’t define who I am or what I can achieve. I hope to find my own supportive community outside of this mess, a place where people encourage you to chase your dreams and don’t tear you down at every opportunity. I know there’s a world out there full of kindness and warmth, waiting for me to find it! Yes, I may have a toxic family, but I believe I can break this cycle! How many of you feels this way too? Isn’t it time we all just took charge of our own narratives and molded them into something beautiful?

i started my onlyfans account like a year ago, just for some extra cash, but i didn’t expect how quickly it’d take over my life. i’m 21, i thought i could handle it, just treat it like a job, you know? but it’s like this thing where the lines between work and life get real blurry. i’m on my phone all the time, messaging with clients, keeping up that sexy, flirty energy that makes them feel special. it’s addictive, not just the money, but the attention too. i catch myself checking messages during lunch, replying when i should be chilling, constantly waiting for the next notification. it’s not like i even know these guys, but their messages give me that little rush, like someone’s thinking about me, wanting me. sometimes it feels empowering, other times it’s just draining. does that sound messed up?

i’ve had friends say, “girl, you need to set boundaries,” but it’s not as easy as it sounds. when your income depends on how responsive and available you are, it’s tough to step back. i’ll tell myself, just this one time, just a few messages, and suddenly an hour’s gone. the worst part? i’ve started sexting outside of work hours, not because i want to, but because it feels like the only way to stay relevant in the game. even when i’m not on the clock, i’ll catch myself drafting flirty texts in my head, thinking about angles, what i’d say to hook them in. it’s like my brain’s wired for it now, constantly on edge, thinking, “how can i keep them coming back?” it’s not healthy, right? but how do you just stop when you’ve made it your normal?

sometimes i look at my phone and think, “what am i doing?” i used to be so social, going out, hanging with friends, but now my social life is basically these online chats. i know it’s my choice, i know i’m the one who opened the account and started down this path, but i didn’t expect it to get this deep. it’s weird because i’m not even in a relationship, but i feel like i’m constantly ‘with’ someone through these texts. like my real life’s on hold while i live in this virtual flirty bubble. maybe i need to find a better balance, or maybe it’s just part of the hustle. i don’t know. ever been in a situation where the thing you thought you could control just takes over your whole mindset?

I'm a Respawner, and I've been planning on leaving this world via respawning and then leaving a stand-in behind. It sounds like a pretty cool and nice idea, but the thing is, the decision is quite permanent and could be risky if not handled carefully (imo). Respawning in general is pretty safe though, and Id be more than happy to respawn to my desired reality. But the struggles in my current reality are really holding me back and I barely have any motivation to respawn or shift realities. I barely feel any love for my desired reality and it's people and I'm wondering why I should continue.

1. I've been trying to shift for a year and a half. I've been trying to respawn for 2 months. I've spent and dedicated a lot of time to this lovely life-altering passion and hobby, and I'd be sad to leave it behind after all the efforts I've made.

2. I'm emotionally attached to my desired reality, to shifting and respawning and to all the people I've made connections with via channeling.

3. This life is shit and I honestly need better. Why not when I literally have the ability to make my life better.

I'm just unmotivated and angry and I feel like not fulfilling my dreams out of pure spite for the universe. But I've tried so hard and fought so much and loved a lot so I'm staying and I'm respawning this December. My plan is to shift to a waiting room and then respawn to my desired reality. I'm taking a calm, directed response to this and I'm trying to manage this at once. I hope my time comes on time and I get to be happy at home. See ya never!!!

In my time as a florist, I've encountered all kinds of hectic situations, but one Saturday morning truly topped the charts. Emily, the bride, and her mother, Helen, arrived at our shop at the crack of dawn, a mere three hours before Emily's wedding was set to begin. Their request was simple yet daunting: a bridal bouquet, a special corsage for the mother of the bride featuring cattleya orchids, a boutonniere for the groom, and six additional ones for his attendants.

The bride eagerly thumbed through a premium floral book, pointing out designs adorned with garden roses, dainty stephanotis, and intricate variegated ivy—all flowers that needed to be ordered well in advance. Both Emily and her mother couldn't grasp why we didn't have these luxurious, perishable items just lying around. The cattleya orchids Helen wanted were nowhere to be found in our inventory either. Caught in a bind, my boss firmly explained the limitation of choosing from available stock and sticking to simpler designs due to the time crunch.

As our discussion heated, Emily alternated between tears and indignantly protesting that we were sabotaging her special day. My boss, who was notoriously short-tempered with last-minute bridal requests, bluntly reminded her that the oversight in flower planning was her own doing. Helen attempted to confront my boss on her supposed poor service, receiving a pointed suggestion to try their luck at a nearby supermarket's floral section instead.

Defiantly, Helen declared they would do just that and reassured Emily that everything would be sorted out in time for the wedding. They left in a huff, leaving us to sigh in relief.

Yet, within minutes, my boss decided we should preemptively prepare something. So, we started crafting six simple boutonnieres from the dendrobium orchids we did have. Meanwhile, my boss put together a basic bouquet using some slightly wilted white roses and more orchids.

As expected, Helen returned not long after, her tone much subdued, pleading for us to assemble the necessary arrangements. We managed to pull everything together on time, but not without imposing a hefty rush fee for their troubles.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality TV show! The cameras capturing every tear, every argument—our florist shop turning into a stage for bridal meltdowns and frantic last-minute fixes. Viewers would probably be on the edge of their seats, judging between sympathy for the unprepared bride and frustration at her entitlement. It would surely be an episode filled with tension and maybe a few laughs at the absurdity of it all.

I genuinely can’t do life anymore