I froze in the middle of the undulating floor, staring at my double, the one beckoning from the flickering amber light. Every fiber of my being screamed to retreat, to run back toward the memory of my living room, the faint hum of the TV, the comforting beige walls and sun-faded carpet. But I couldn’t move. The faceless figures had formed a corridor behind me, a silent gauntlet urging me forward, pushing me with invisible hands. Then the train shifted. Not just forward—it bent. The rails, the walls, the floor all swirled together, warping space like molten metal. I stumbled but didn’t fall. My double smiled wider now, something knowing, almost cruel in the way it revealed my fear.

The moment my foot touched the wet platform, the world shifted entirely. Gravity felt thicker, like I was wading through syrup. The faceless figures kept moving with mechanical precision, their boots splashing in puddles that mirrored the amber light from the train windows. I wanted to step back, but the platform stretched behind me into fog, dissolving into nothing. The living room, my tiny TV, the couch—they were still there, ghostly outlines behind me, tethering me to some fragile sense of reality I could barely cling to. The train was closer now. Its hiss was deafening, steam curling around my face, hot and metallic. The smell of pizza clung to it, absurd and impossible in combination with the sharp, oily scent of the engine. My stomach twisted. I realized I could hear it—the faint, rhythmic echo of my own heartbeat, perfectly synced with the thrum of the rails.

The vibration under my feet persisted, subtle yet insistent, like the heartbeat of something enormous moving just beneath the floorboards. I sat frozen, my eyes locked on the tiny TV, watching my double—or whatever that was—reach forward as if it could step through the screen. My hands trembled. I wanted to grab the remote, yank the cord out of the wall, do anything that would stop it, but it felt like the room had grown heavier, every movement slowed by invisible weight.

The next morning, I woke with the faint taste of pizza grease in my mouth, like a dream I couldn’t fully remember. The tiny TV sat quietly on its rickety table, innocuous, almost apologetic, as if nothing had happened. I poured coffee, the steam rising in lazy curls, and kept glancing at the screen, half-expecting the words NEXT STOP to vanish or wink at me, some reassurance that it was just a weird dream. But the TV remained black, silent, patient. Waiting. I didn’t want to turn it on. I knew better. Something about it had changed. The scratches, the name, the smell—it wasn’t just a channel anymore. Something had shifted.

I have a tiny TV. That’s how I always think of it, not the tiny TV, just my tiny TV, like a pet with poor manners. It sits on a tiny table—particleboard, one leg shimmed with a folded receipt—in the middle of my adequately sized living room. The room is big enough that the TV looks embarrassed to be there, like it wandered in by mistake and decided to stay. Couch against the wall. Window that faces nothing important. Carpet that remembers better decades. Everything reasonable. Everything quiet. The TV gets one channel.

Fight them off, girl Rambo. Writing to them is the same as conversation. It's not silent. Keep the BB gun loaded and ready to fire a round. Breaking and entering a new galactic year

FOREX NOTES – Complete Beginner Guide 1️⃣ What is Forex? Forex (Foreign Exchange) is the global market where currencies are traded to make profit through price movements. 2️⃣ Buy & Sell Explained Buy: Enter a trade when you expect the price to rise Sell: Enter a trade when you expect the price to fall 3️⃣ MT4 & MT5 Basics MetaTrader 4 and MetaTrader 5 are trading platforms used to analyze the market and place trades. 4️⃣ Risk Management Always manage your risk. Never risk more than 1–2% of your account on a single trade. 5️⃣ Stop Loss & Take Profit Stop Loss (SL): Limits your loss Take Profit (TP): Locks in your profit 6️⃣ Simple Trading Strategy. Trade with the trend, wait for confirmation, and avoid overtrading. 7️⃣ Final Advice Forex trading requires patience, discipline, and continuous learning. Practice on a demo account before trading real money. 🔒 Premium Access Subscribe to unlock more advanced notes, real examples, and step-by-step trading guidance.

I LOVE UGLY PEOPLE That's what I said. I really LOVE them. I have always thought I was ugly and not good enough. A close buddy informed me while I was in the service that I was so ugly that my mom fed me with a slingshot. I've always wondered why people liked me. But let's get back to the ugly individuals... I love the wonderfully ordinary, delightfully lopsided, and boldly unpolished people on Earth who wake up, look in the mirror, and go about their day like brave housecats with bedhead. I enjoyed Prince and his songs, but his manner was too much for me. What man likes purple? But I adored the song "Purple Rain." Life is complex.

A young woman reflects on her past traumas as a sick child who was a mystery to everyone the second she was pulled into this world. She spent so long in the darkness that she never knew the light existed until she broke free from the roots that held her down all her life and ran for her life towards the shining brightness as she knew she had a calling in life that even death couldn't stop her.

Time has a way of settling over things like dust. In the weeks and months after the throw, the world moved forward as it always did, carrying the echo of that singular moment along hidden currents. Newspapers reprinted screenshots. Documentaries aired clips slowed to surreal insistence. The hashtags faded, but the story didn’t. It became one of those inexplicable legends that people cited but never fully understood, like a cautionary tale whispered at family dinners or in the back rooms of small-town diners. The little man returned fully to Woodburn, to streets that remembered him but demanded nothing. No crowds, no cameras, no applause—just the rhythm of his own steps on cracked sidewalks. He walked past empty lots where leaves gathered in corners, past chain-link fences where forgotten potato sacks lay like relics of some absurd ritual. Sometimes, he paused and stared at them, half-expecting the russets to rise and fly again. They never did.

The first imitation attempt happened before the provisional ink dried. It was not sanctioned. It was not measured. It was filmed vertically on a phone with a cracked screen and uploaded with a caption that tried too hard to sound inevitable. The potato was undercooked. The distance was exaggerated. The target—a watermelon duct-taped to a fence—stood in for courage. Still, the clip spread faster than anyone expected, shared not because it was impressive, but because it felt adjacent to something that mattered. That was how it began.

The roar did not end so much as it transformed. What began as disbelief hardened into narrative almost immediately, as if forty-seven thousand people were racing to explain to themselves what they had just seen before someone else did it for them. Chants started and died mid-syllable. Flags waved with no clear allegiance. Strangers hugged, then pulled apart, embarrassed by their own sudden intimacy. On the field, officials moved with the stiff precision of people who understood that every step was now evidence. Clipboards appeared. Radios crackled. A man in a blazer jogged, then slowed himself to a walk, remembering too late that jogging suggested panic.

The potato left his hand with a sound no one expected—not a thud, not a hiss, but a low, wet whump, like something alive being evicted from its body. It spun once, twice, end over end, trailing a faint vapor as heat met air. For a fraction of a second it seemed too heavy, too ordinary, too foolish to be airborne at all. Then it climbed. The crowd did not cheer. Cheering would have implied confidence. This was something else entirely. A collective intake of breath rolled through the stadium like weather. Phones rose. Mouths opened. Somewhere in the upper deck, a man dropped his beer and did not notice.

In a world gone wild, the stage was set for the decimation of the world record. The stadium was loud and rukous. Bets were being made in Vegas and the back rooms of laundromats. No one believed it could be done. No one but one little man from the dirty streets of Woodburn, Oregon. He alone believed he could chuck a hot potato 100 yards into the gaping mouth of a 12 year old child from bangladesh. With a wave of his potato, he silenced the crowd and eyed his distant trembling, sunbaked target and let his starchy legacy fly.

How to Live a Healthy Life: Proven Strategies for Lasting Wellness Understanding What It Means to Live a Healthy Life definition of healthy living, holistic wellness, balanced lifestyle, foundations of health The Importance of Nutrition in Achieving Optimal Health

This post is my experience with postpartum mental health and how you treat yourself is how you'll feel. Caring for yourself should always be a priority.

Self-growth is sold as hustle and constant improvement- But what if trying to be better starts to feel exhausting? This note is about learning that growth doesn't have to cost your peace. Self-growth isn't a race and is why becoming Slowly is still progress.

This is my introduction to my blog page. This is where I came from, and how I got to where I am now.

Change is inevitable. The twists and turns that come with it sometimes feels like undeafeated obstacles but letting go, letting go is one of the hardest parts of change. How do we change what is already against us? How can change happen so easily with every eb and flow? Does change only happen when we push the throttle onto full speed? Or does it matter what change has in its plans for us? Do we get to have a choice?

How it all began. I think I was 4 years old at this time when it started. This is my story and this is a look into my very first memories of what my childhood was.