Flea markets near naples florida

When I joined the army, I always considered myself ahead of my counterparts. Being 21, I felt that I had the privilege of maturity on my side. Preventing me from making the foolish mistakes that I had heard of so often. Boy was I wrong…
I graduated basic training, with the same mentality as many soldiers before me. Despite being a mere 150lbs, I was confident that I was the barrel chested freedom fighter that was bound for greatness. Thus, I determined it was necessary to stamp myself with a badge to display my pride to the world.
I began obsessively searching for tattoo parlors. Naturally there is a large amount in the immediate area of the installation. I have no car, so I decide to walk at the end of a long reception day to the closest one. I bring my tan backpack and camo baseball cap to ensure everybody knows I’m in the military.
Upon arrival, I’m introduced to a textbook definition of a local, near a military installation. The guy clearly has seen a million of us and states with sarcasm
“Let me guess, American flag or a lone wolf outlined by pine trees.”
I had put 0 thought into what I was looking for. I said I wanted something to symbolize my service in the military. He rolls his eyes and pulls out a portfolio as thick as the almanac dictionary. It’s filled with a wide variety of military related drawings that were bound to tingle a new soldier.
I come across one that catches my eye. Thirteen stars, with a three Roman numeral centered in all its glory. I point to it swiftly and ask the artist about its meaning. He states he’s not really sure, “Something about a certain percentage of people who join the military” it’s one of the rarer ones he says.
I fall in love with it. It’s perfect. I lay down on the chair and prepare my calf for my first tattoo. I was nervous, but I had made it through the gas chamber. There was no pain I couldn’t handle.
Despite my virgin skin, I manage to get through it relatively painlessly. My leg is taped up, and I can’t wait to show my roommate my new tattoo. He looks at it enviously and I instantly knew I made the right choice.
Being in the southeast in February, it’s still relatively warm. We show up in full winters and we are told to downgrade. I’m excited to display my new leg piece to my subordinates. Aside from the sand gnats eating me alive, it’s a good pt session. Besides one strange thing..
There’s another soldier staring at me with more lust in his eyes than a dog waiting for a treat. This is reception, so I haven’t spoken with him but you would swear we just had a one night stand in some dirty barracks room.
I’m walking back to the barracks and he runs to me like Forest Gump during a kickoff. I get a whiff of his breath that’s full of Copenhagen Wintergreen. He speaks to me with the most southern drawl I had ever heard.
“Hey bud, I saw your tattoo I used to be a part of a group back in Florida. It’s people like us that really stand for American values”
I look at him with a mix of concern for myself and his sanity. He stares at me with his mouth wide open and he asks me how long I’ve been a three percenter. I tell him I have no idea what he’s talking about. And he begins to try to recruit me. I decline. His enthusiasm quickly shifts to rage.
“So you’re just a fucking poser?! Not cool dude you realize we’ll be protecting people like you!”
He stomps off. I’m completely lost and sprint to my barracks room so I could research the meaning behind this tattoo. I find this video.
https://youtu.be/j7rJstUseKg
I’m fucking horrified. What have I done.
I rush to the tattoo parlor and beg them to fix it. He says it needs to heal and I begin to shed tears, I say what if we just put a line in between two of the Roman numerals? It will say “Hi” he laughs at my continued stupidity. But agrees.
He completes his work and I walk to the barracks with my head down in shame. How could I explain this to anyone. I wore jeans everywhere for the next two years because I was so humiliated. I become the Hi guy at my unit and it feels like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
As time has gone on, it’s become a funny story. However I would still like to get it covered up one day. Tattoos are permanent and we should encourage joes to avoid anything immediately after basic training. 99% chance you’ll regret it.
TLDR: Got a tattoo without researching it. Ended up with a three percenter tattoo that I hated. Tried to fix it and now my leg says “Hi”. Don’t let your soldiers go dumb shit.

Server Name: 60X CARS/LOOT/FOOD ——————————————————————— 🎮 Platform: Xbox 📷 FPP & TPP Enabled 🖱️ Mouse & Keyboard: Enabled 👥 Player Slots: 32 ♻️ Restart Intervals: 3/hrs 🗺️ Map: Chernarus ⚒️ Build Anywhere ☀️ Day: 2hrs 🌑 Night: 10mins
💚Hulks DayZ Bot providing features such as: 🏧 Banking 💰 Bounties 💀 Killfeed 🧟 PvE Feed 🥇 Leaderboard 📊 Player Statistics 🏪 24/7 Automated Trader
🔫Pristine, kitted & tiered loot. 🚙Vehicles fully built. M3S Cargos include build kit. 🫁 Unlimited stamina and boosted movement speed. 💳 Punchcard bunkers with boosted loot 🏁Without a base flag, containers and fences will despawn. ⚔️ PVP KOS 🏴‍☠️ Raid weekends: Friday 10:00PM EST - Monday 12:00PM EST. 💲 Black Market located near North west airfield. 📍 Custom locations and vehicle spawns.
Northern Spawns: Zaprundnoe/Servograd / Vybor / NWAF / Grishino /Stary sober / Zelnogorsk / Southern Spawns: Balota / Chernogorsk / Electro / Berezino / Svet https://discord.gg/AY52x4JftY

Hello all,
My wife and I just recently returned from our first trip to Italy and I wanted to share some of my experiences and observations from our trip that may help others looking to go for the first time.
Here was our itinerary:
March 22-23: Rome (stayed near the Pantheon); March 24: travel from Rome to Positano, stay one night; March 25-26: Positano to Sorrento, stay two nights: March 27-28: train from Sorrento to Rome (Trastevere), two nights; March 29: return home.
The first thing I want to express is my wife and I had an absolutely fantastic time! I was super nervous about this trip as this was my first time overseas and furthest I'd ever been from home, but very happy we went.
Topics I wanted to share:
Mobile Passport Control: If you're from the US or Canada, download this app before you go. Do it. Don't think twice. If the airport you're returning to accepts it, this is a game changer. My wife and I skipped at least a 1.5-2 hour long line at customs and breezed through in about 15 minutes, time in line included. The actual process with the Customs office took less than 5 minutes. You answer some very simple questions in the app, take a photo of each traveler, import your passport information and then once you land, you submit all that information and get a QR code. You scan that QR code with the officer and you're basically done. If it weren't for that app, we would have absolutely missed our connecting flight back home. I will forever sing that app's praises-- it was an fantastic experience.
Research: absolutely do research. Don't just "wing it" going to Italy. I felt like having a general plan of what we wanted to do, when we wanted to do it, budget and understanding the travel necessary to complete our trip was huge to our trip's success.
Scammers: one common "prepare for this" I saw before going to Italy was these people who try to give you flowers or bracelets seemingly for free, then ask you for money afterward. Definitely saw them, mostly in Rome, and some of them have some interesting tactics to get your attention. For me, I heard a lot of "hey, I like your beard!" or "Nice beard, man!" We also saw some others who dressed up and would get in a photo and then ask for money after the photo. Just keep an eye out and so "no" or "no thank you" repeatedly and they eventually leave you alone.
Pickpockets: this was another common "prepare for this" I saw before the trip, but we never had an issue. My wife and I both wore crossbody bags and I wore a jacket over mine to hide the strap from behind. I had nothing in my pockets the entire trip, except for maybe my phone a few times, but nothing in my back pockets.
Cars/Scooters/Pedestrians: man, sometimes it felt like IRL Frogger, especially in Rome! Those scooters find any sliver of light and they're going for it to weave in and out of cars. At some crosswalks that didn't have crossing lights, you kind of just walked and hoped traffic saw you and would stop. From that perspective, Rome felt very similar to New York City. Even walking in alleys and streets off the main road could be a fun experience as well with narrow streets and cars or scooters driving your way. I never felt in danger at any point in time, but I felt like I had to keep my wits about me at all times.
Smoking: So. Many. Smokers. This was probably the biggest culture shock to me, and this is coming from someone who has been in bowling alleys their entire life including back when you could smoke there in the states. Smoking was everywhere, except on buses and trains. It's not like in the states where there are designated smoking areas or people try to separate themselves from others while smoking. That really surprised me and I had smoke blown in my face while walking, eating...even with our hotel window open it wafted in.
Moovit App: So, I had heard this app was really helpful in navigating the buses around Italy. I had mixed results. Sometimes it was very accurate, sometimes it wasn't. We also got on the wrong bus (but same number?) once and had to get off and call an Uber because we wanted to get to our hotel and didn't want to deal with a bus again. YMMV of course and some of it may have been user error, but I was lukewarm on it.
Buses: Speaking of buses, that was a wild experience. Some of them in Rome were packed to the gills and then some. It was crazy to see how many people could pack onto those buses. Overall, they were useful and got us where we needed to go, but thankful that neither my wife or I get claustrophobic.
Trains: We took TrenItalia to Naples and Italo to Rome. Both were fine, I didn't notice a huge difference between the two lines. We took the Campania Express from Naples to Sorrento and back and it was fine-- it was more expensive than the Circumvesuviana, but I thought it was nicer and a bit quicker. In Naples, you follow the signs to the Campania Express, but don't go through the gates to actually get on the platform. There is this alcove near the gates where you see people wearing Campania Express shirts/hoodies and they'll escort you to the train when it's close to arriving. But, in Sorrento, they don't do that and my wife and I almost missed our train back to Naples because we didn't realize we were standing right outside of it...it's not labeled as Campania Express anywhere, so just be aware of that. The other issue with the Campania Express is its schedule-- it only runs four times a day, so if you're using it, you really have to plan your entire journey around that schedule.
English: I know this is a common question, so I thought I'd share my experiences as well. I knew only a few Italian words/phrases that I looked up prior to the trip and I had no issues at all with the language barrier. Some people spoke English very well, others knew enough to get by. In my experience, the people who knew the least English was the taxi drivers-- we took three taxis during the trip: one knew a decent amount, one knew very little and one knew none at all (luckily I knew Italian for "Colosseum.") Other than that, really had no issues at all with the language. Funny enough, there were some times like at a store or something where the cashier could tell we were tourists (not that it was hard by any means lol) and I would say "Gratze!" and they'd be like "Thanks so much!"
That's just what is off the top of my head, but if anyone has any questions, feel free to ask! Happy to share.
Again, absolutely loved the country, loved the trip and had a wonderful time.

It started with an itch. An itch along the edge of my right eye. An itch that I scratched and rubbed. An itch that wouldn’t go away. It was like I’d gotten dust in it, or a speck dirt that I’d only been massaging deeper into my eye. Yet, no amount of tears that welled to the surface, or water that I splashed into my face seemed to fix it. It was an itch I tried to bear, thought I could bear, but I was wrong.
‘Do you want me to help?’
My brow furrowed, head twisting while I searched for who’d spoken. I was alone on the sidewalk, walking my daily route along the local park. The air was crisp that morning, a subtle breeze had been whistling in my ear all throughout the walk. I wondered if perhaps it had been the wind, its gentle caress that had whispered a tune into my ear. I felt ridiculous in the moment, the one eye I wasn’t covering with my hand swiveled to check my surroundings. There wasn’t even a tree for someone to have been hiding behind.
I smiled a slight grin, shaking my head as if it would help quell the rising embarrassment. Yet, there was an undeniable appeal to the offer. The constant rubbing and probing had started to morph into a pain, more a prickling annoyance than anything substantial. Yet, I’d long since become annoyed with the inconvenience. Mind drifting to such dramatic thoughts, I weighed the offer. I’d give anything to make the itch go away. Before I raised my hand to poke at the sensitive area once more, I glanced around with embarrassed trepidation. No one was near, yet my face was warm, flush from the unavoidable awkwardness. “Sure,” I said quietly, my voice nearly cracking, “help me out.”
I didn’t know how to explain it, but my eye stopped itching. More than that, the pain dissipated too. It was like it had never happened. I removed my hand from where it had been pressing against the socket, blinking away a moment of blurry half-vision.
I went about my day without giving it another thought, letting the warmth of the sun soothe my concerns until it dissipated back into an oddity of the otherwise mundane morning.
…
The next day, the itch returned. It was not the slow escalation that built over time, not like the morning last. It returned immediately, and without the encouragement of my touch a searing pain came to join it. It was sudden and brutal, like nothing I could have prepared myself for. I winced, sucking a short breath through clenched teeth while the agony felt like a nail had punctured my eye, an invisible hammer pounding the stake deeper through the orb as it burrowed towards my brain. Beneath it all, was the desire to wipe at my eye, to press into it deeper with the flesh of my palm, anything that would lessen the pain and overwhelming urge to scratch at it some more.
My jaw opened with a click, muscles tightening around clenched joints. I started to cry out, the overwhelming pain so profoundly unique, unlike anything I’d known before. A shaky hand rising to my face, I pressed the back of it into my face, wrist twisting as the bones of my knuckles rolled into my eye socket.
For a fraction of a second, the white hot poker that had been stabbed into the edge of my eye lessened. But it only lasted for part of a breath, just long enough for me to think that the worst of it might be done. Oh, how I was wrong.
The torture leaped from the edge of my eye to encompass the whole orb. With a feeling like knives were dragging their edges in sadistic figure eights against the gelatinous flesh. My stomach twisted, and I was sure that I would empty my breakfast onto the floor. All the while, my world was starting to spin, encompassing delirium gripping my mind. I cried out in pain once more, this time wetted by moisture that streamed down my cheeks and poured from my nose. I don’t know when, but I’d entered the fetal position, my free hand wrapping around my knees to pull them closer to my chest – as if that would somehow help me.
As the pain continued to increase, my thoughts became muddier, with every passing second it was becoming harder to form a cohesive thought. I knew my limited options were becoming even scarcer, I knew that soon I would black out from the pain and by then my fate would be sealed. I tried to think of something to try, except only my screams rattled my brain, the only brief respite being when a fresh inhale was needed to produce more of the painfilled noise. I didn’t know who would hear, I lived alone, and the walls leading to the outside world were fairly thick. Even if someone heard me, and happened to call the police; even if they made it to me before I gave myself a hernia - what could they possibly do?
Between a volley of screaming that my tucked head had been directing to my knees, I stopped to suck in a short inhale. When I started again, a new sound pulled at the back of my mind, barely audible over my own voice.
‘Do you want me to help?’
Silence filled my home. Jaw creaking from its fully extended position, vision blurred from the tears that covered both pupils while I hesitated. Did I hear that? I wondered for a fraction of a second. “What?” my voice rasped in a hoarse sound, my throat torn from my abrupt and violent usage of it. The voice was more like a whisper when it had spoken to me, I was unsure if I’d even heard it or if my mind had conjured it in the delirium.
“Would you like my help?”
My head nodded furiously, a new round of tears spilling to the surface. “Yes, yes,” I begged, “please make it stop.”
Same as the last time, the pain melted away as abruptly as it had come on. With shaky limbs, I rose from the floor, my breath still quivering as quiet whimpers escaped my lips. Blinking away the moisture I stared at the floor in a confused amazement, wondering what was going on, or if I’d maybe imagined the whole thing. Besides the constant shivers from the dump of adrenaline and the crust along my cheek I didn’t have any hard evidence, or witnesses to the strange episodes.
Dragging feet across the floor, the adrenaline gave way to such a heavy exhaustion, the urge to collapse on my bed and sleep for a day was an alluring proposition. After what felt like an extremely long minute of lumbering to the bathroom, I made it to the mirror, hoping to find some proof of my pain that I could show someone.
When I looked up at the reflective pane hanging above the sink, I flinched so hard that I nearly fell into the tub behind me. The image was distorted, like an object held so close to my face that part of it had duplicated. In the mirror, half of my face seemed the same as I’d seen it when I brushed my teeth a few hours earlier.
The other half of my face was a sickly green, holes pockmarked my flesh with red and pink beneath. Aside from my pumice stone complexion, gashes dragged deep wounds erratically at different angles across my face, many of the creases formed lips of hardened puss and gangrene. Some of the wounds dug deeper to show the milky white bone beneath. The front of my nose had also fallen off or decayed to a point where all that was left was the twin tunnel leading into my brain. In the ghoulish half of my now haunting visage, my eye popped from its socket. The eye lids long since decayed to leave a permanently wide-eyed expression, the gaps between the yellow stained orb and the socket gave it the appearance of floating inside my face.
My otherwise normal eye widened, panic and confusion crawling up from the depths. Directing my hand to rise to my face, I watched it slowly creep from the bottom of my vision. As it crossed into the half of my face that was closer to a mummified husk, my digits changed. The skin around my hand turned putrid, the digits became gangly, while fingernails curled and fell off. Waving my fingers in front of my face, I watched the bones and sagging skin sway like a tattered curtain. I gawked at the sight with a morbid curiosity for a few seconds before yanking it from view, a sudden urgency brought on by fear of it as atrophying if I held it out for any longer.
Hidden from view, I clenched my hand in a few investigatory squeezes, rubbing into it with deep massaging presses. It felt normal, but I needed to be sure. Eyes drifting down, I caught a glimpse of my exposed forearm. Like my hand, craters of decaying flesh marred the limb, some gaping holes as large as quarters, they patterned the limb like a macabre art piece.
Head snapping to the side, I quickly looked away from my hands and arms. As my vision swept from the normal scene into the altered sight the cabinets and walls transformed. In the edge of my vision, they were aged, wallpaper curling into a soaked yellow, spackles of black mold staining its surface.
What is this? I wondered, still struggling to comprehend what my eyes were showing me, each of them showing a different version of the same image. My neck craned to the side so I could look at the same spot along the wall with my other eye. In an instant, it returned to the plain taupe as soon as it entered the other half of my vision. The cheap replica painting and few family pictures, reformed into something cohesive.
Careful not to glance at the mirror or anything else that might show me my reflection, I rubbed my hand along the forearm that had been spackled with lesions and sores. Underneath my fingers, I felt the dry skin and thin hairs all standing at attention. But no holes, I remarked with a shaky breath. I stepped from the bathroom, with my eyes straight ahead. It’s in your head, it’s not there – I’m fine. The thought brought a measure of comfort, like the knowledge that I’d been imagining everything would leave my physical form intact. That was until I realized that viewing the world through a glass of atrophy and death was still far from normal.
Can I just cover it? The thought was so simple and would be an easy solution to my problem. Suddenly brimming with hopeful vigor, I shut my right eye, the one that had been so abruptly afflicted with the visions of decomposition.
Confusion battered at my mind when my sight remained unaltered. It was odd. I felt the side of my face scrunch, my eyelid closing over the orb, yet my view of the withering wall was unaltered. Cupping my hand to cover the eye, it didn’t block the twisted sight either. Investigating the other eye, I was quick to find that it could still be closed as normal, but all that did was limit my field of view while plunging the remainder of my vision in a gut-wrenching hellscape.
I grunted quietly at the new oddity, unsettled for what came next.
…
For six days, I shut myself out from the world. I hid. I got used to walking corpses handing me pizza, and me handing them money that had long since shriveled and faded into blank notes, yet they always accepted it with a smile. Have you ever witnessed a half-mummified body smile? Witnessed the lesions about his face twist and curl along bloated cheek bones, or the black stained teeth that hung at an angle loosely in his mouth by a stubborn corner. I of course could still see the man through my other eye, the image oscillating between decomposition and the youthful vigor of a young man trying to make a few bucks on the side by dropping off pizzas.
Each day I couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. The concept of eating was difficult when from the corner of my vision I constantly saw rotting food. Food I’d just ordered fresh that was shrunken and shriveled, taken over by carpets of mold black and green. The toppings turned from their vibrant colours of red and green to stomach churning shades of black and grey. Even if I looked to the ceiling to avoid glancing at my food, I was then treated to stained plaster, littered with holes that revealed the deteriorating wood behind it. If I could manage a few bites, it tasted like the pizza I’d known and loved before. But I couldn’t purge the images of the rotten meal from my mind, the thought was always there to shut down any thoughts of a meal.
It wasn’t just the lack of nutrients either, being unable to shut one of my eyes made sleep near impossible. Even with curtains drawn and the lights turned off, the pitch black surrounding was insufficient. Something about my brain knew that my eye was open, and refused to offer anything resembling acceptable sleep. After being awake for three days, I did eventually sleep – it wasn’t for very long. Three hours if I recall correctly, jolting awake immediately after my brain caught up to what it believed was the still open eye. The days after were profoundly lethargic, doing anything felt like it took hours, each moment of it like wading through a muddy bog. As well, the biological need for my brain to shut down every few hours left me nodding off constantly, only to wake a few minutes later.
I felt myself at my limit, my mind stretched to the absolute edge of what it could handle. How many more days can I go before a psychotic break? Until a stroke finally takes me? From my seat at the kitchen table, I glance to the counter, eyeing the arrangement of cleavers and blades with a quiet alluring. Quickly, my head shook. Not yet.
“Would you like my help?”
I jolted up from my chair. Snapping to attention with a sudden surge of energy. The quick movement dizzied my vision, pulling me to the side as I wobbled slightly. After recovering my wavy vision, my neck snapped to both sides for a quick examination of the small room. It was empty. “Hello?”
“Would you like my help?”
It was like the voice was in my head, echoing in both ears, seeming everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, a perfectly balanced timber that betrayed no emotion, neither malicious nor benevolent – it was simply there.
“What are you?”
Pausing for a long bout of silence, the voice held its answer, before finally responding with the same question. “Would you like my help?”
My mouth opened, but I nearly bit my tongue with how quickly my jaw shut. Shaking my head violently, I rubbed my arms vigorously, hoping it would quell the hairs that had risen along each of them. I knew the truth. It doesn’t help. It was the voice that made my vision like this. The piercing pain is also thanks to the voice’s ‘help’. But, I couldn’t deny that the thought of a full night’s sleep, of a meal that I didn’t immediately evacuate afterwards was incredibly appealing.
Had I been more rested, had I not been so exhausted and desperate, I might have possessed the fortitude to turn down the proposition. However, I was not, and I did not. “Yes,” I croaked in a voice that was dried to the limit of what my body could handle. Like the food, water had a similar effect on my brain, taking on the look of liquified sewage, like pond scum with a wisp of foam atop it.
Almost immediately, I felt a pinch behind my eye. It forced a wince from me as I withstood the discomfort, only for it to dissolve a moment later. My vision had returned, in my kitchen I saw my cabinets and stove top, the table I was sitting at and the half-eaten slice of pizza from last night. I lunged for the twisted remains of the meat supreme, wolfing it down in two ambitious bites. Stumbling to the sink, I cupped my hands beneath the open faucet, frantically funneling warm tap water into my stomach.
I felt like a man lost in the desert, stumbling into an oasis after days of exhaustion. Ignoring the protestations of my stomach, I jumped to the fridge where I’d stored the rest of the leftovers. Ripping contents from the shelves, they were scattered onto the table in a chaotic feast that I couldn’t wait to dive into.
That was when I heard a sound. It was quiet like the voice had been, simultaneously all around me and nowhere at the same time. I’d heard it for the briefest of instances, like a word half caught at the end of it being spoken somewhere in the distance. Struggling to place it, the noise sang out again. The quiet screech of metal is what I heard, like a knife being dragged against steel somewhere in the distance, as if it was the faint echoes of someone sharpening a knife. Or a rusted pair of scissors opening.
It screeched once more, this time louder and closer, with the unmistakable click of shears closing. Instantly, the vision in my recovered eye blurred, as if they suddenly needed glasses. Stumbling backwards in surprise, I was mostly amazed to not be feeling any discomfort besides the few squeals of metal I’d heard in my ear. Once more the metal wailed, and this time the vision in my blurred eye shifted. The obfuscated items of green and red dulled, its hues becoming barely legible, closer to grey than their original colours.
My breath skipped, then drew short inhales quickly through my nose. Between my rapidly drawn breaths, my ears picked up the quiet screech once more. I froze, immediately clenching every muscle I could while even my lungs paused.
One second.
Two.
Nothing. Whatever was doing this to me was relishing in the fear that was starting to scratch at my mind.
Then the snip. I flinched at the subtle pinch, and the darkness that immediately fell on the side of my vision. It wasn’t like an eye was closed, where my field of view should have become narrower. There was only darkness. A dribble of moisture trickled down my cheek, not tears but something else. Raising cautious fingers, they poked towards the wetness that continued to flow down to my chin, quickly returning with tips dyed a crimson red.
A part of me was terrified, too terrified to stumble to the mirror and see what the voice had done to me. But the much louder part of my mind demanded sleep, so I curled up into a ball on the floor, grateful I could finally close my eyes. Tomorrow’s problem will be dealt with tomorrow.
…
The next morning I woke with a spasm coursing through my limbs, like I’d been jolted awake by a bolt of lightning. A stabbing pain raced down the back of my neck, creeping into my spine with its barbed wire touch. Along the side of my head was a different pain, this one dull and thumping to the steady beat of my heart. My arms and legs felt sore, with a sensation of pins and needle gripping the one arm that I seemed to have slept on.
My mind wandered while I struggled to my feet, trying to recall the faint lickings of the terrible dream that I’d suffered last night. But as my eyes drifted to the wall, and the black void covering half of my vision became more apparent, I remembered. It wasn’t a dream at all.
Wobbling legs carried me to the bathroom. Both hands gripping the sinks edge, I couldn’t look. Fear scratched at the back of my mind, I knew the truth, I didn’t need a reflection to confirm it. It was only after I felt my knuckles whitening from the pressure for several long seconds that I pushed through the heavy fog, gathering the will to look at the reflective pane across me.
Where there should have been my eye was a crater. With its true depth hidden by the shadow of my skull, I could only imagine how deep the cavern in my face went, the parts I could see were lined with the near black crimson of dried blood. Beneath the hollowed socket were also thin streams of dried blood, forming narrow paths towards my chin like pain filled tears. I raised a trembling hand to my eye, like I’d done before, but this time to see if what I was seeing was in fact real. I watched in the mirror while tremors rocked my extended finger, watched the finger descend into the crater that was the eye socket. As my hand flinched, part of a fingertip rubbed against the moist flesh that lined the inside of my socket. I felt no pain in my face, but the rest of me felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. My stomach immediately flipped and I suddenly had to contend with the urge to empty my stomach into the sink.
My breath was shaky, shuddering air that I tried to control before it got away from me. But I felt myself losing the battle, each breath harder to draw than the last. In, and out. My feeble commands were having little effect, the dread becoming stronger as I knew what would come next. Like a hunter in the night, one second I felt fine, the next second, a dryness at the edge of my remaining eye. It twitched slightly, a tremor in the nerves that could have come from anything. I couldn’t yet tell if it was a lack of moisture in the air or something more.
Then my eye started to sting, and I realized I’d been holding it open for a few seconds straight. Fear demanded it be held ajar, unsure if it was a natural discomfort or the beginnings of the next round of torture.
Only holding it open for a few seconds longer, I eventually blinked. Breath held, while my lungs froze. Still unsure if I conjured the new itch, I tested the feeling in my eye. Is it gone? I wondered when I couldn’t feel anything more than the slight stinging along its edges. Chest finally collapsing, I drew long breaths with shut eyes. With each shuddering breath, I analyzed the sensations that coursed through the nerve endings along my face. I’m fine, I promised myself.
Then the urge to rub at my eye became stronger, forcing twitches all along the side of my face, even down to my jaw. Don’t. Instead I clenched my hands while my mind drifted to something else that might distract me, like the stale air flowing in and out of my nose, the rattle of the furnace creeping through the vents.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, the back of my hand pressing into my eye socket and slowly wiping across it. Dry skin from the back of my hand was wetted, the cracks along my skin filled with the moisture my eye had been producing. More tears joined it as I realized with a jolt what I’d done.
“Wait,” I whispered in a shuddered breath.
It didn’t wait. Like a needle, a stabbing pain pierced the side of my eye, feeling like it punctured through to the other side too. A howl of pain escaped my lips, echoing in the acoustics of my narrow bathroom. Legs immediately giving way, I fell to the floor, already half curling into a ball atop the small shag carpet I’d laid by the sink. Palm pressing against the eye, I let my vision go black while stars of white spackled my vision. Short hissing breaths filled the room as I grappled with the return of the violent pain. Even as it felt like the stake plunging through my eye was twisted, as the nerves and sinew wrapped around each other into an unimaginable squeezing – I fought it.
I don’t know where the strength had come from, the sudden urge to resist became everything that I set my mind towards. Grinding my teeth together, my waning strength was being battered, it had been seconds and already my will was on the precipice of collapsing all together.
Then an image fluttered into view. It stole my breath, air freezing as shock gripped my system. My stolen eye was still gone, the right side of my face covered with inky nothingness. The remaining one that had been covered by my hand, abruptly shifted into a sideway view of my floor. I saw my bathroom tiles, chipped and faded; the carpet, patchy and molded; the walls, chipped of its paint, made pale by years of sunlight, and stained from years of neglect. What I saw was not my bathroom, not the bathroom I’d been in when I collapsed to the floor.
Like a sadistic poem, the itching, pain, and macabre vision assaulted me all at once. It was like it knew that my will was brittle, that my desire to resist was hanging onto the edge of the cliff by only my finger tips.
Then something shifted in my mind, a final surge of resistance. A spiteful rebellion gripped my thoughts, a rage that flared up abruptly with the surging of a wildfire as it tore through a forest of dried kindling. I wished to confront the source of my torment, to grip it by the neck and throttle it into submission. As I tapped into this new reservoir of strength, my hands balled into fists. Where the fuck is it? I demanded in my mind. As if I’d summoned it myself, the voice spoke. “Would yo–”
“Fuck you!”
“Would you li–”
“No!” I screamed my throat raw.
“Would you like my help?”
“I would like you to leave me. I’m never going to ask for your help.”
For a few long seconds, the voice didn’t respond. It left me with the unbearable itch that no amount of rubbing could satisfy, the sadistic agony that I was powerless to quell, and the knowledge that my vision had been plunged back into the unescapable hellscape - but at least it was quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
“Would you like my help?!” It suddenly screamed in my ear. I flinched in surprise, it was the first time that the cool dispassion of the voice was broken. “Would you like my help?!” It repeated a fraction of a moment later. “Would you like my help?!” Shouting over and over, the voice didn’t pause to breathe, repeating the words as soon it had finished the furious request. As the vicious battery of the question continued, I tried to fight it, shaking my head violently as if it would loosen the sound and even screaming alongside it to drown out the noise. Nothing worked, the unending noise persisting in my mind.
With each attempt to break my will, the question was starting to sound different. It was changing slightly, with at first minor variance in its tone, and cadence. With each failed attempt, the difference in the request after it became more stark to the point where I was starting to hear different ages, genders, and even accents in the repeating petition.
Cupping both hands over my ears, it did nothing to mute the sound. I screamed to drown out the sound, but the voices were louder. My face grimaced in stalwart resistance. I’m not going to give in, I assured myself. The voice had taken enough, I would give it no more ground.
…
How foolish I was. I know this now.
My jaw was impossibly sore from clenching teeth into a twisted grimace; sweat matted down hair against my forehead, and stained my shirt with the proof of my defiance. My will was brittle, a resigned exhaustion filling every one of my muscles. “Would you like my help?!” A woman yelled, she sounded Asian, eerily close to the woman who worked the counter at the small Chinese market I used to shop at. The requests had changed their tone some time ago, I don’t know how long I’d been curled in the ball before it, and I don’t know how much time has passed since. There was a desperation to her sound, a brief and frantic plea before she was shunted to the side in place of the next voice in the endless queue.
“Would you li-” the next one started.
“Fine,” I whispered in a voice so soft I barely heard it myself. The voice heard me though, halting its request now that I’d finally caved. In the silence I thought I could feel it relishing in my pain, soaking in my surrender and what little fear I could muster for what comes next. And as one second drifted into the next, a part of me started to believe that nothing would happen.
That was when the voices responded. In a booming chorus, ten thousand voices spoke as one, “thank you.” The thundering voices were impossibly loud, simultaneously loud enough to fill a stadium but also bearable as it echoed in my head. They sounded as tired as I felt, and the relief in their tones gave me a measure of calm. I was exhausted, too exhausted to feel anything when the screech of the twin metal blades scratched my mind. Managing to get my feet under me, I rose to stand.
My vision had turned back to normal once more, and I knew it was all but a fact that it would be for the last time. I would have liked to look at a sunset if it was going to be the last thing I saw, but I doubted the cruel voices would allow me that mercy. So I stared at my haggard features in the mirror. The gaping maw that was my right eye no longer bothered me, a grim acceptance finally quelling the shock and revulsion I’d felt before. In three quick cuts, the view of my face went from blurry to grey, and then finally to black. With a relieved breath, my hand wiped the new trickle from what was my last eye.
…
That was a week ago. My friends and family thought I’d lost my mind, that I suffered a mental break and decided to scoop my eyes out with a spoon. At first I was in disbelief, then rage, but after a few days of quiet contemplation I’d made my peace with it.
Who could blame them if they didn’t believe my story; the voices in my head, the unscratchable itch, the unimaginable stabbing pain, the visions of rot and decay that had become everything I saw. Who could blame them if they didn’t believe me when I told them of the rusted scissors in my mind that snipped at my eye before plucking it from my head. I could barely believe it myself, some nights questioning if maybe they were right.
However, I could blame them for having me locked in an institution. In the solitude of my padded room, I was given time to think, to recall the events and search through what I felt. It was in that sterile room, beneath the quiet buzzing of what I could only assume were fluorescent lights, the truth solidified in my mind.
I am not crazy.
I am not delusional.
…
“How did that feel?”
“Good, I guess.”
“That’s good, it’s good to talk about these things.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“That I am. I’m going to leave this with you, use it to record your thoughts or whatever you’d like. It’s yours, you won’t have to share the recordings with anyone unless you want to.”
---
My throat is itching, and no amount of water, tea, lozenges, or even salt water gargled has helped. The men and women in flapping coats say that I’m sick. BUT I’M NOT SICK. I know it like I know that water is wet.
I tried to make them understand, but they wouldn’t listen. Even as the two larger men wrapped thick hands around both my arms and carried me to the far end of my padded cell. Even as I kicked and screamed and fought furiously. Even as the needle slipped into my skin to deliver the fluid that would ‘calm me down’. Even as I begged and pleaded with them to just kill me instead.
My throat is still itching.
…
I record this now, knowing I’m dead. It’s almost impossible to talk, each entry takes most of the day, but I need to record something of myself.
I’ve accepted that with a desperate trusting in whatever comes next. The only hope that I truly cling to in this life is that someone finds this, and that they believe me.
…
I can barely swallow. Water, saliva, even air all struggle to slip down my neck. I hear the quiet murmuring of the nurses and doctors when they check on me, they think I’m doing something to myself.
I try to tell them that it’s back, but they only give me more drugs.
“I don’t understand it,” I heard one of them say.
…
A nurse came by with my medicine. I asked her to kill me. She said the medicine was a muscle relaxant for my throat.
I told her it wouldn’t work.
I made her listen to my choked sobs as she locked the door behind her.
Why won’t they just kill me?
…
I heard a sound. I know I heard this sound. It was like a whisper, gentle as a wisp of smoke, but it was there.
“Would you like me to help?”

Are there any track driving or racing experiences that you know of in Orlando, or at least central Florida?
Not looking for NASCAR or like backyard rally driving, but more like Ferrari/Lamborghini with a professional driver around a track for a few laps. I know there uses to be one near Disney, but for the life of me I can’t find anything on it.

A friend (23f) is moving back to a city near me. Partly as a joke, I (23f) said at the beginning of the year that we could move in together if she didn't move in with her boyfriend after all. Coincidentally, a few weeks after that they broke up and she asked me if I meant it first, which at that moment I said yes, since I've been thinking about moving to that city as well since I work there.
We have been looking for flats for a while now and finally got one and signed the papers for the flat as it became clear that this was most likely the only flat we could get as housing market is horrible right now (I honestly don't fully like the flat as we have two bedrooms and a tiny living room that only fits a couch and tv. So the dining table will most likely end up in one of our rooms anyway). My goal was also to have my work desk somewhere else besides my bedroom, which now does not work. When we got the ok, she was very happy whereas I was not really (we only had a call about the approval before we actually signed and she assumed my lack of words was out of happy shock), but I also didn't want to go back on my word as she needs a room from April on in the city and I never fully made up my mind about, if I want to move or not. I honestly after a while thought we will never get a flat.
The main reason why I want to move out is that the living situation with my family. I live with my parents, both siblings (22m, 26f) and my nephew (4m) in my parents' house on 3 floors. Sounds relaxed, but it's not quite. On the top floor is my room and right next to me is my nephews bedroom, so I hear screaming etc. every night (which can stretch over several hours) when he doesn't want to go to bed. Plus, I can't practice music anywhere after work because he is supposed to go to sleep by then and I can’t tune down my saxophone that much. The last room on this floor belongs to my sister and a cat, who always wants to attack my own cat when he sees her. (We have had my cat for 10 years and he has only been with us a few months).
In the middle floor is "our" kitchen with an adjoined small dining room, where the kitchen also serves as a passage to the bathroom. So you don't really have peace and quiet here either, because people walk through especially in the evenings and the pure possibility is stressing me out. On this floor is also the bedroom of my brother (which used to be the living room) and the bedroom of my parents.
On the ground floor is my parents' living space, their kitchen, dining room, living room and bathroom (which needs to be renovated and is therefore more of a storage room). The living room is purely for my parents and the dining room is all full of kids toys and a pass through to their kitchen and bathroom.
Basically, there is no real retreat apart from my own room, and no way to invite friends over. I also don't want to work out of my own bedroom for a lot more years.
But then why don't I want to move in with a friend?
1) It's probably only for a year, since she will be transferred afterwards and living alone (even with my cat), I just don’t want that. I did that in the past for about 6 months during my studies and just felt lonely and miserable. I also don’t want to live with people I don’t really know at this point in life.
2) My brother wants to start a second apprenticeship next summer, for which he would have to move out and then probably stay there. Then a room would be free that could be used as a living room with a sleeping couch. My sister is also starting an apprenticeship this summer, where she could also be transferred after in two years (and take her son with her). But there is always the risk of either or both not working out or both coming back and wanting their rooms back.
3) Money. I currently earn 3k€ per month (after taxes) and would pay 700€ for rent & utilities. I could afford that, for me the question arises for me whether it is not more sensible to save this money and save for an upgrade of our adjoining building or the renovation of the small cottage on the property of my parents. Both are not habitable due to lack of heating, poor insulation, uneven floors and the outdated water pipes.
4) Is it worth it to tear my cat out of her environment for a year? I don't want to leave her with my parents, because there she would then have no attachment figure and no real place to rest. She is not allowed to go to the lowest floor because of my parents' birds, on the middle floor there is only my brother, and he is rarely at home, and on the top floor she can't go into my nephew's room or my sister's room because of the cat.
5) I would live 30min away from my small village. Doesn't sound much, but because of that I can't join the voluntary fire department during emergancies anymore and after music rehearsals and gigs I have a much longer way home and I can't just have a drink or party with friends, because I always have to get to my apartment somehow...
As of right now, I'll moste likely move in (at least majorly) and keep the thoughts of resigning the lease mostly to myself (of course, I'll talk with my roommate about it as we would have to pay for 3 months after resigning according to the law and she would have to find a new place). So either, I will actually be more happy there or waste a junk of money that I could have saved up otherwise and upset my cat by moving. I wish I would have just said no to the apartment.
TL;DR: I signed a lease for an apartment with a friend, than I don’t really want to move into, but living with my family is also getting on my last nerves. Now I don’t know if I actually should move in or rather stay with my family, save the money long term. If I decide not to move, I will lose a 3 monthly rent payments.

Company Name	Title	City
Pittsburgh Pirates	2023 Video Board Operator (Florida Operations)	Bradenton
Sliced Creative	Video stagiair(e)	Amsterdam-Zuidoost
Network Marketing Pro, Inc.	Social Media Video Editor	Henderson
Allied Productions	Video Production Intern	Grand Rapids
Rivermark Community Credit Union	Bilingual Personal Video Teller	Beaverton
TaylorMade Videography	Videographer	Mansfield
Celebration Talent Competition	Event Videographer	Texarkana
KARL STORZ Endoscopy America, Inc.	Director of Marketing, Surgical Endoscopic Video Imaging- Technology	El Segundo
NBCUniversal	Senior Video Engineer - Live	Stamford

Hey guys, I know this may not be the perfect place, but I though some of you may have the skills and the interest to apply to some recent job openings. I you are not interested in these jobs just ignore them, downvote them or ban me, if you are interested in them apply directly to the link we are searching for North America based individuals (for tax reasons)only, thanks!

If Halloween has started the holiday season for you then you could consider the option of going on a fishing trip. Both bayside and deep waters are very promising this season. So do not miss out on the latest offers in fishing events and the boat rental services available in the market. There are many firms who have prompt solutions to such requirements.
​
The popularity of boat rentals is at its peak today with more and more tourists planning fishing holidays. Many places have Boat Rental proved as ideal destinations for fishing and diving adventures. Examples of such destinations are the Grand Lake Marina, Colorado; Florida Keys, Oakland, Alameda, Richmond and San Francisco Bay, The Virgin islands, and many more destinations.
​
The small firms that have taken up boat rentals have seen a boom in business especially during the holiday seasons. Hence they have come up with more and more lucrative offers like lower prices on rental fares and free packages. So if you are wondering where to go with your family this holiday season, then this could be a viable option.
​
Most of these companies deal in boat rentals. What about those who have their own boats? A set of professionals are trained to aid you in maintaining your boat, and in any incident of damage during your fishing expeditions, they undertake thorough repair to restore the boat to its original condition. Repairs could be of any type from minor body work to fiberglass repairs to securing the storage locations. They try and maintain the durability and safety of your boat throughout the year.

Including your primary keyword in important HTML elements such as the H1, title, meta description, URL, and the first 100 words of your content can help improve your website's search engine optimization (SEO) and increase the chances of your website appearing higher in search engine results pages (SERPs). Additionally, using your primary keyword in subheadings and schema (structured data) can also help to indicate to search engines the relevance of your content to the keyword. Finally, making your primary keyword bold can also help to visually emphasize its importance to both search engines and users.
#seotips #seoultour #seoullovers #seoulstreet #travelseoul #exploreseoul #websitedesigner #websitedevelopment #landingpage #hubspot #digitalmarketingstrategy #googleadwords #koreatravel #b2bmarketing #googleanalytics #woocommerce #webdesigning #webdesignagency #responsivewebdesign #digitalmarketingexpert #searchenginemarketing #searchengineoptimization #websiteservices #marketingconsultant #digitalmarketingservices #mailchimp #marketingcompany #lottetower #onpageseo #digital_marketing_agency_near_me

Company Name	Title	City
Pittsburgh Pirates	2023 Video Board Operator (Florida Operations)	Bradenton
Sliced Creative	Video stagiair(e)	Amsterdam-Zuidoost
Network Marketing Pro, Inc.	Social Media Video Editor	Henderson
Allied Productions	Video Production Intern	Grand Rapids
Rivermark Community Credit Union	Bilingual Personal Video Teller	Beaverton
TaylorMade Videography	Videographer	Mansfield
Celebration Talent Competition	Event Videographer	Texarkana
KARL STORZ Endoscopy America, Inc.	Director of Marketing, Surgical Endoscopic Video Imaging- Technology	El Segundo
NBCUniversal	Senior Video Engineer - Live	Stamford

Hey guys, I know this may not be the perfect place, but I though some of you may have the skills and the interest to apply to some recent job openings. I you are not interested in these jobs just ignore them, downvote them or ban me, if you are interested in them apply directly to the link we are searching for North America based individuals (for tax reasons)only, thanks!

"In January 2022, when yields on U.S. 10-year Treasury bonds were still roughly 1% [...] I warned that inflation would be bad for both stocks and bonds."
"The consequences for these investors have been severe. By the end of 2022, U.S. banks’ unrealized losses on securities had reached $620 billion, about 28% of their total capital ($2.2 trillion).
"...higher interest rates have reduced the market value of banks’ other assets as well. If you make a 10-year bank loan when long-term interest rates are 1%, and those rates then rise to 3.5%, the true value of that loan [...] will fall. Accounting for this implies that U.S. banks’ unrealized losses actually amount to $1.75 trillion, or 80% of their capital."
"The “unrealized” nature of these losses is merely an artifact of the current regulatory regime, which allows banks to value securities and loans at their face value rather than at their true market value."
"In fact, judging by the quality of their capital, most U.S. banks are technically near insolvency, and hundreds are already fully insolvent."
Personal thought: Banks are sitting on a bomb. 80% of their capital is tied up in unrealized losses. Now I kinda understand why a coalition of mid-sized banks asked for the government to insure all deposits regardless of size for the next two years...
Sauce: https://www.marketwatch.com/story/most-u-s-banks-are-technically-near-insolvency-and-hundreds-are-already-fully-insolvent-roubini-says-18b89f92

A large regional flea market opens near me tomorrow. I've never been before but hoping to find some good pieces.
I bought an early access pass so I could spend 3 hours looking.
Any tips for how to search quickly for UG pieces outdoors in the daytime without obviously waving a UV flashlight around everything. Once sellers see a glow, prices seems to jump up.
Thanks for any advice and wish me luck!!

Company Name	Title	City
Pittsburgh Pirates	2023 Video Board Operator (Florida Operations)	Bradenton
Sliced Creative	Video stagiair(e)	Amsterdam-Zuidoost
Network Marketing Pro, Inc.	Social Media Video Editor	Henderson
Allied Productions	Video Production Intern	Grand Rapids
Rivermark Community Credit Union	Bilingual Personal Video Teller	Beaverton
TaylorMade Videography	Videographer	Mansfield
Celebration Talent Competition	Event Videographer	Texarkana
KARL STORZ Endoscopy America, Inc.	Director of Marketing, Surgical Endoscopic Video Imaging- Technology	El Segundo
NBCUniversal	Senior Video Engineer - Live	Stamford

Hey guys, I know this may not be the perfect place, but I though some of you may have the skills and the interest to apply to some recent job openings. I you are not interested in these jobs just ignore them, downvote them or ban me, if you are interested in them apply directly to the link we are searching for North America based individuals (for tax reasons)only, thanks!