Delete Number Quotes

I delete the picture of him from my phone; I delete his number. I think that if I just delete him enough, it will be like none of it ever happened and my heart won't hurt so badly

I deleted your number. Although I know the tired digits by heart, scout's honor, pinky promise. I am trying to talk myself out of every emotion I'm having, and of course, it is failing to a fault. I'm still sad, I'm still mad, I'm still heartbroken, I miss you.

Note to self: Don’t delete numbers of the people you hate. They might come in handy someday.

She's like a sister. People say we're such opposites, but that's what makes us such good friends. She's incredibly blunt. I love that about her. If some guy has said or done something to me she doesn't like, she'll grab my cell phone and say, 'I'm deleting his number.

Here’s a non-geeky framing of the same idea: What if listening to an inner voice or heeding a passion for ethics or beauty were to lead to more important work in the long term, even if it measured as less successful in the moment? What if deeply reaching a small number of people matters more than reaching everybody with nothing?

It's easy to Deactivate account, Unfriend someone, Delete a number, Ignore a call... But... Moving on and erasing that person from your heart seem impossible...

When he was gone, I blocked his number and then deleted it from my phone. When I say good-bye, I mean it.

Please delete my number – because I don’t want to delete you. Because I want you with a certainty that you will perhaps never possess.

Please delete my number – because I’m deleting yours. And you can find someone new to text your maybes to.

to do list (after the breakup) 1. take refuge in your bed 2. cry. till the tears stop (this will take a few days). 3. don’t listen to slow songs. 4. delete their number from your phone even though it is memorized on your fingertips. 5. don’t look at old photos. 6. find the closest ice cream shop and treat yourself to two scoops of mint chocolate chip. the mint will calm your heart. you deserve the chocolate. 7. buy new bed sheets. 8. collect all the gifts, t-shirts, and everything with their smell on it and drop it off at a donation center. 9. plan a trip. 10. perfect the art of smiling and nodding when someone brings their name up in conversation. 11. start a new project. 12. whatever you do. do not call. 13. do not beg for what does not want to stay. 14. stop crying at some point. 15. allow yourself to feel foolish for believing you could’ve built the rest of your life in someone else’s stomach. 16. breathe.

They’d seen the worst, rawest parts of me and they didn’t delete my number from their phones. I wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with, and the fact that they stuck around meant more to me than I could ever actually admit,

If she could have deleted herself from the universe, she would have.

What if deeply reaching a small number of people matters more than reaching everybody with nothing? (p68)

Who do you imagine you are? Imagine there's a version of you that sees all of it. A version that knows when versions are messing with the other ones, trying to get things off track, trying to erase things. A record of all the versions, partial and deleted and written over. All the changes. All truths about all parts of our self. We break ourselves up into parts. To lie to ourselves, to hide things from ourselves. You are not you. You are not what you think you are. You are bigger than you think. More complicated than you think. You are the only version of you that is you. There are less of you than you think, and more. There are a million versions of you, half a trillion. One for every particle, every quantum coin flip. Imagine this uncountable number of yous. You don't always have your own best interests at heart. It's true. You are your own best friend and your own worst enemy. . . . Only you know what you need to do. Imagine there is a perfect version of you. Out of all the oceans of oceans of you, there is exactly one who is perfectly you. And that's me. And I'm telling you that you are the only you.

email, that ingenious twentieth-century invention whereby any random person on the planet can pester you, at any time they like, and at almost no cost to themselves, by means of a digital window that sits inches from your nose, or in your pocket, throughout your working day, and often on weekends, too. The “input” side of this arrangement—the number of emails that you could, in principle, receive—is essentially infinite. But the “output” side—the number of messages you’ll have time to read properly, reply to, or just make a considered decision to delete—is strictly finite.

How do I know I’m in love if I don’t want to kill myself all the time? Mavis is the nicest person I’ve ever met, and it was hard to recognize I was in love with her because she never let so much time elapse between “hey wats up winky-face emoji” texts that I had deleted her number and had to respond, “NEW PHONE WHO DIS.

Sometimes in life, there is time for a change to walk away with your head held high and never look back! You can’t change all the people around you, but you can change the people you choose to be around. No relationship is worth being miserable over. Sometimes you just have to erase the messages, delete the numbers, and move on.

I had intended to write this book anonymously, using my prison number only. But when the manuscript was completed, I saw that as an anonymous publication it would lose half its value, and that I must have the courage to state my convictions openly. I therefore refrained from deleting any of the passages, in spite of an intense dislike of exhibitionism.

When he goes weak is when she takes him by surprise like this, on an innocent fall morning, blooming right across his mind so fresh and vivid that he can almost smell her. He can't remember why he shouldn't pull out his phone, Hey, baby, listen to this. Probably he should delete her number, but they might need to talk about Alyssa sometime, and anyway he knows it by heart.

People who are in the business of hating the relatively new-fashioned use of “begs the question” hate it vehemently, and they hate it loudly. Unfortunately, subbing in “raises the question” or “inspires the query” or any number of other phrasings fools no one; one can always detect the deleted “begs the question,” a kind of prose pentimento, for those of you who were paying attention in art history class or have read Lillian Hellman’s thrilling if dubiously accurate memoir.

I used to think one day we'd tell the story of us ; How we met, and the sparks flew instantly. People would say have said they're the lucky ones. I used to know my place was a spot next to you and then it went to me searching the room for an empty seat 'Cause lately I don't even know what page you're on Oh, a simple complication, Miscommunications lead to fall out. So many things that I wish you knew oh and So many walls up, I can't break through Now I'm back again on this website after five years And I'm dying to know does it still hurt you like it hurts me? I don't know what to say since a twist of fate, when it all broke down and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now How'd we end up this way? With both of us deleting our accounts and going our separate ways So, today I'm telling the story of us of how I was losing my mind when I saw you had deleted the account and gone away without a goodbye and no I miss yous leaving me with just your quotes on Goodreads How you held your pride like you should've held me Why did we pretend this is nothing? I'd tell you I miss you, but I don't know how I never heard silence quite this loud Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room in a UK library reminiscing about the days when I was 15 and you were a 16 California boy; how we fell for each and how we fought both too immature to realize what we were setting up in flames How I still recall your replies and my singing heart and shining eyes. Didn't tell you back then and now I'm saying I liked it better when you were on my side So many things that you wish I knew ; So many that I wish I had told you But the story of us has broken, burned and ended Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room And we're not speaking : And I'm dying to know Is it killing you like it's killing me? But I don't know what to say Since a twist of fate, when it all broke down And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

In this way the extortion game is similar to the economics of sending spam e-mail. When receiving an e-mail promising a share of a lost Nigerian inheritance or cheap Viagra, nearly everyone clicks delete. But a tiny number takes the bait. Computer scientists at the University of California–Berkeley and UC–San Diego hijacked a working spam network to see how the business operated. They found that the spammers, who were selling fake “herbal aphrodisiacs,” made only one sale for every 12.5 million e-mails they sent: a response rate of 0.00001 percent. Each sale was worth an average of less than $100. It doesn’t look like much of a business. But sending out the e-mails was so cheap and easy—it was done using a network of hijacked PCs, which the fraudsters used free of charge—that the spammers made a healthy profit. Pumping out hundreds of millions of e-mails a day, they had a daily income of about $7,000, or more than $2.5 million a year, the researchers figured.3

We need to be humble enough to recognize that unforeseen things can and do happen that are nobody’s fault. A good example of this occurred during the making of Toy Story 2. Earlier, when I described the evolution of that movie, I explained that our decision to overhaul the film so late in the game led to a meltdown of our workforce. This meltdown was the big unexpected event, and our response to it became part of our mythology. But about ten months before the reboot was ordered, in the winter of 1998, we’d been hit with a series of three smaller, random events—the first of which would threaten the future of Pixar. To understand this first event, you need to know that we rely on Unix and Linux machines to store the thousands of computer files that comprise all the shots of any given film. And on those machines, there is a command—/bin/rm -r -f *—that removes everything on the file system as fast as it can. Hearing that, you can probably anticipate what’s coming: Somehow, by accident, someone used this command on the drives where the Toy Story 2 files were kept. Not just some of the files, either. All of the data that made up the pictures, from objects to backgrounds, from lighting to shading, was dumped out of the system. First, Woody’s hat disappeared. Then his boots. Then he disappeared entirely. One by one, the other characters began to vanish, too: Buzz, Mr. Potato Head, Hamm, Rex. Whole sequences—poof!—were deleted from the drive. Oren Jacobs, one of the lead technical directors on the movie, remembers watching this occur in real time. At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, he was frantically dialing the phone to reach systems. “Pull out the plug on the Toy Story 2 master machine!” he screamed. When the guy on the other end asked, sensibly, why, Oren screamed louder: “Please, God, just pull it out as fast as you can!” The systems guy moved quickly, but still, two years of work—90 percent of the film—had been erased in a matter of seconds. An hour later, Oren and his boss, Galyn Susman, were in my office, trying to figure out what we would do next. “Don’t worry,” we all reassured each other. “We’ll restore the data from the backup system tonight. We’ll only lose half a day of work.” But then came random event number two: The backup system, we discovered, hadn’t been working correctly. The mechanism we had in place specifically to help us recover from data failures had itself failed. Toy Story 2 was gone and, at this point, the urge to panic was quite real. To reassemble the film would have taken thirty people a solid year. I remember the meeting when, as this devastating reality began to sink in, the company’s leaders gathered in a conference room to discuss our options—of which there seemed to be none. Then, about an hour into our discussion, Galyn Susman, the movie’s supervising technical director, remembered something: “Wait,” she said. “I might have a backup on my home computer.” About six months before, Galyn had had her second baby, which required that she spend more of her time working from home. To make that process more convenient, she’d set up a system that copied the entire film database to her home computer, automatically, once a week. This—our third random event—would be our salvation. Within a minute of her epiphany, Galyn and Oren were in her Volvo, speeding to her home in San Anselmo. They got her computer, wrapped it in blankets, and placed it carefully in the backseat. Then they drove in the slow lane all the way back to the office, where the machine was, as Oren describes it, “carried into Pixar like an Egyptian pharaoh.” Thanks to Galyn’s files, Woody was back—along with the rest of the movie.

She leaned forward and placed her chin on her fist. 'So. Can you tell me in a sentence or two how I can fix my life using vaastu shastra techniques?' He smiled. 'You'll be surprised to hear that I can. These things may be complex on the surface, but they are built on very simple truths.' He leaned back and joined his fingertips together, looking up and thinking for a few seconds. 'Let me put it like this. Consider your desk, whether it is an office desk, or a table at home where you receive and write letters. What happens at that desk? Answer: every day, a number of letters are received. Or faxes. Or advertisements. These are all items with potential energy applications. They are all bits of paper urging you to react in some way—to buy a product, or respond with a phone call, or change the way you do something. Now what we should do is to react to that potential energy transaction in some way—and thus burn up the energy in it. We should either fulfill it, by doing what it says, or we should make a decision that we are not going to fulfill it, but instead throw the paper away. But, instead, we take that piece of paper and we balance it on our desk, unwilling to make an immediate decision. This happens to a number of pieces of paper every day, and then before we know it, there is a huge pile of pieces of paper on the desk. When it gets too high, we take the pile of paper and we tuck it into a drawer. When the drawer gets so full it cannot close, we tuck the paper into a cardboard box and stick it under the desk. Soon our desks are jammed with paper—underneath, inside & on top.' 'Good God! You've been spying on me!' 'Alas, it is what most people's desks look like.' 'What's the effect of all these unfulfilled bits of paper? What did you call it—potential energy transactions?' 'I shall tell you. The day comes when you arrive at your desk, and you have lots of work to do, but you can't do it. You feel an incredible amount of inertia. You can't get started. And you have no idea why.' 'You peeping Tom! You've been staring at me through my office window.' 'The reason why you can't get started is that your desk is swamped with frozen energy. It is lying there, waiting to be handled. But the inertia infects everything you do, so that you end up unable to do anything.' She shook her head. 'It's awful, but it all rings true. What about computers? I use mostly email these days.' 'They're just the same. The only difference is that instead of physical letters arriving at your desk, emails arrive in your inbox. Again, each of them is a potential energy transaction. And again, the right thing to do would be to delete each one, or reply to each one—and then delete it. But that's not what we do, is it?' 'It is not.' 'We leave them there in our inboxes.' She nodded guiltily. 'And soon there are 600 emails in our inboxes.' '800.' 'And eventually, we select them all and stick them in a file called "archive"—which is simply the computer equivalent of the cardboard box under the desk. And the result is the same. Our email systems become full of frozen energy, & inertia spreads out of it. We find ourselves unable to do any useful work.' 'I've often wondered why I feel like I am walking in treacle. So what should one do about all this?' Sinha waved a bony index finger at her. 'This is what I recommend. Divide all your paperwork into 2 piles. One of stuff that is useless and should be thrown away. And one of stuff which you think may be of use one day. Then you throw both piles away.' 'Both piles?' 'Both piles. By that stage, you will have started to feel the benefits that clarity can bring.' 'And I suppose one should delete all one's emails as well.' 'Exactly. Even if you don’t, that nice Mr. Gates has arranged for the computer to crash every few years, so that all your stuff gets wiped out anyway.

Whatever your computer problem, somebody else has had it before. And you can find the solution with Google. Every single time! Here are some examples of what you can type: • page numbers won’t print in Microsoft Word • can’t turn off gridlines in Photoshop • how do I change ink cartridge in Canon Pixma iP7220 • Apple TV can’t connect to iPad • how do I delete photos from galaxy s4 phone Bonus tip: Add “solved” to your query, like this: “ipad won’t charge solved.” That way, Google will show you only the discussions where the question actually wound up answered.

bank account numbers, and credit card details. Wrongfully exposed personal information is deleted immediately upon discovery

Never Put These Ten Words in Your Pitch Deck Take a close look at your standard pitch deck, the “about us” section on your corporate home page, or your PR material. Highlight every instance of the words “leading,” “unique,” “solution,” or “innovative.” In particular, go find all instances of the phrase “We work to understand our customers’ unique needs and then build custom solutions to meet those needs.” Then hit the delete key. Because every time you use one of those buzzwords, you are telling your customers, “We are exactly the same as everyone else.” Ironically, the more we try to play up our differences, the more things sound the same. Public relations expert Adam Sherk recently analyzed the terms used in company communications, and the results are devastating. Here are the top ten: By definition, there can be only one leader in any industry—and 161,000 companies each think they’re it. More than 75,000 companies think they’re the “best” or the “top”; 30,400 think they’re “unique.” “Solution” also makes an appearance at number seven—so if you think that calling your offering a “solution” differentiates you, think again. If everyone’s saying they offer the “leading solution,” what’s the customer to think? We can tell you what their response will be: “Great—give me 10 percent off.” We don’t mean to be unsympathetic here. You’ll find it’s hard to avoid these terms—heck, we call our own consulting arm “SEC Solutions”! In all of our time at the Council, we have never once met a member who doesn’t think her company’s value proposition beats the socks off the competitors’. And it’s understandable. After all, why would we want to work for a company whose product is second-rate—especially when our job is to sell that product? But what the utter sameness of language here tells us is that, ironically, a strategy of more precisely describing our products’ advantages over the competition’s is destined to have the exact opposite effect—we simply end up sounding like everyone else.

She knew she should have deleted Donavan’s phone number as soon as she walked away but something inside her wouldn’t allow it. Mia

You don't want to see me? I'm sorry for everything. If you don't want to see me then don't hold it too. I am expecting nothing from you. Just one look. I can pass my life by this way only. My love is not so selfish. How I help you I don't know. Are you OK? Don't worry about the financial crisis. Ups & downs occurs in life.I have thorough idea about your situation. If you don't want to keep any relation, then also it will be fine, never think that I'll be upset, I'll never, whenever it will be possible I'll try to be connected with your mktg team related to work orders. I swear I'll never mind if you delete the number. I have consider that worst situation too, I'm prepared for this.

scripture of the ancient religion of Zoroastrianism, which predates the Abrahamic religions, contains 22 prayers.661 For an excellent video on this subject, please look up the following on YouTube: “This Truth May Scare You See This Before it is Deleted 2018-2019 EVENTS WORLD EARTH UNIVERSE” by Anonymous Official.662 I’ll conclude this section with one more tantalizing bit of trivia. In the 11th month of 1922, Howard

Here’s some positive spin: The fact that independent journalism is in trouble in BUMMER’s shadow is a sign of its integrity. Journalists have successfully held themselves to higher standards than social media influencers, but they have also paid a price. Now the real news is called “fake news,” because by the standards of BUMMER, what is real is fake; in BUMMER, reality has been replaced by stupid numbers.

Originally, many of us who worked on scaling the internet16 hoped that the thing that would bring people together—that would gain network effect and lock-in—would be the internet itself. But there was a libertarian wind blowing, so we left out many key functions. The internet in itself didn’t include a mechanism for personal identity, for instance. Each computer has its own code number, but people aren’t represented at all. Similarly, the internet in itself doesn’t give you any place to store even a small amount of persistent information, any way to make or receive payments, or any way to find other people you might have something in common with. Everyone knew that these functions and many others would be needed. We figured it would be wiser to let entrepreneurs fill in the blanks than to leave that task to government. What we didn’t consider was that fundamental digital needs like the ones I just listed would lead to new kinds of massive monopolies because of network effects and lock-in. We foolishly laid the foundations for global monopolies. We did their hardest work for them. More precisely, since you’re the product, not the customer of social media, the proper word is “monopsonies.”17 Our early libertarian idealism resulted in gargantuan, global data monopsonies.

Lena: You swoony bastard. I guess you’re really over me, huh? ;) Theo: Just texting you to tell you I deleted your number from Lena’s phone.

When writers become less motivated by the desire to reach people directly, but instead must appeal to a not necessarily reliable number-dispensing system, then writers are losing their connection to their context. The more successful a writer is in this system, the less she knows what she's writing.

You told me to call you when i need your help but i deleted your number because i didn't want to open my heart again. You came in as a stranger and soon you dressed up like a long lost friend only to hurt me when it felt convenient and walk out to find yourself.

following on YouTube: “This Truth May Scare You See This Before it is Deleted 2018-2019 EVENTS WORLD EARTH UNIVERSE” by Anonymous Official.662 I’ll conclude this section with one more tantalizing bit of trivia. In the 11th month of 1922, Howard

Extensive background in public accounting. I can also stand on my head!" Too many E-numbers. "I perform my job with effortless efficiency, effectiveness, efficacy, and expertise." There are not too many of them about. "Personal: Married 20 years; own a home, along with a friendly mortgage company." The first rule of projects is: You don't talk about projects. "My intensity and focus are at inordinately high levels, and my ability to complete projects on time is unspeakable." Learning a language. "Exposure to German for two years, but many words are inappropriate for business." Congratulations! "Accomplishments: Completed 11 years of high school."  No really, how is your memory? "Excellent memory; strong math aptitude; excellent memory; effective management skills; and very good at math." I think bricks would work better personally, but hey go for it. "Personal Goal: To hand-build a classic cottage from the ground up using my father-in-law. To be fair the job on offer was to play Snow White in a Christmas production. "Thank you for your consideration. Hope to hear from you shorty!" . Very I would say. "Enclosed is a ruff draft of my resume." Delete. "I saw your ad on the information highway, and I came to a screeching halt." Then why attach it? "Please disregard the attached resume -- it is terribly out of date." Lone wolf. "It's best for employers that I not work with people.

Watching this cavalcade of outrages sobered Washington’s political chattering classes in a way George Packer powerfully captured:5 The adults were too sophisticated to see Trump’s special political talents—his instinct for every adversary’s weakness, his fanatical devotion to himself, his knack for imposing his will, his sheer staying power. They also failed to appreciate the advanced decay of the Republican Party, which by 2016 was far gone in a nihilistic pursuit of power at all costs. They didn’t grasp the readiness of large numbers of Americans to accept, even relish, Trump’s contempt for democratic norms and basic decency. It took the arrival of such a leader to reveal how many things that had always seemed engraved in monumental stone turned out to depend on those flimsy norms, and how much the norms depended on public opinion. Their vanishing exposed the real power of the presidency. Legal precedent could be deleted with a keystroke; law enforcement’s independence from the White House was optional; the separation of powers turned out to be a gentleman’s agreement; transparent lies were more potent than solid facts. None of this was clear to the political class until Trump became president.

When you've got your devices down to the ideal number, use these tips to minimize them and prevent distractions: - Remove as many icons from your desktop as possible. - Uninstall software you don't need. - Delete unneeded files from your Documents folder. (If you don't want to delete them completely, at least move them to an archive folder so they don't clutter your most-used folder anymore.) - Develop a simple but logical folder structure so that you can find documents you want easily. - Unsubscribe to blogs, email newsletters, and advertisements that no longer serve your interests. - Delete internet bookmarks, cookies, and temporary internet files you no longer need. - Delete apps you don't need, remembering that if you need them later, you can always download them again. Put only your most crucial apps (such as your calendar and your phone) on your home screen. Put the rest in folders on your second screen. - Turn off notifications, including social media push notifications and email audio alerts. - Make sure your spam filters are working. - Delete photos that are of poor quality or that you don't need. - Delete unused music and movies. - Subscribe to a password manager so that you don't have to keep track of a bunch of passwords.

Around three a.m. I throw away Peter's notes. I delete the picture of him from my phone; I delete his number. I think that if I just delete him enough, it will be like none of it ever happened and my heart won't hurt so badly.

I.807.500.3455 AOL Support Number Phone Number There are a number of things that you need to do in order to have the best possible AOL email experience. Make sure your inbox is clean. Use filters and folders to make sorting through your messages easier. Check your spam folder regularly for emails from companies or stores you've never heard of before. Always delete spam messages unless they contain attachments you want to keep. Take advantage of the auto-sort feature. AOL Mail is one of the most popular email providers in the world. AOL Mail has a user-friendly interface, plenty of storage and security features, and even a search engine for easily locating old messages. It is easy to get started with AOL Mail--just sign up for an account, choose your preferences, and connect it to your browser or mobile device. Contact at Aol Customer Service Phone Number I (807) 500.3455 for more details

This whole painful irony is especially striking in the case of email, that ingenious twentieth-century invention whereby any random person on the planet can pester you, at any time they like, and at almost no cost to themselves, by means of a digital window that sits inches from your nose, or in your pocket, throughout your working day, and often at weekends, too. The ‘input’ side of this arrangement – the number of emails that you could, in principle, receive – is essentially infinite. But the ‘output’ side – the number of messages you’ll have time to read properly, reply to, or just make a considered decision to delete – is strictly finite. So getting better at processing your email is like getting faster and faster at climbing up an infinitely tall ladder: you’ll feel more rushed, but no matter how quickly you go, you’ll never reach the top. In ancient Greek myth, the gods punish King Sisyphus for his arrogance by sentencing him to push an enormous boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down again, an action he is condemned to repeat for all eternity. In the contemporary version, Sisyphus would empty his inbox, lean back and take a deep breath, before hearing a familiar ping: ‘You have new messages

Please delete my number because I’m not going to settle for your maybes. I want concrete. I want definite. I want people who call when they say they will and show up when they plan to. I don’t want to spend my life waiting for and wasted on a person who can only love halfway. I do not want your texts, late at night that say, “I miss you” or “I’m sorry” or “I just need a little bit more time.” Please delete my number – because I’m deleting yours. And you can find someone new to text your maybes to.

Soon, there were other things that began to trouble Tyler. One type of experiment he and Erika were tasked with doing involved retesting blood samples on the Edisons over and over to measure how much their results varied. The data collected were used to calculate each Edison blood test’s coefficient of variation, or CV. A test is generally considered precise if its CV is less than 10 percent. To Tyler’s dismay, data runs that didn’t achieve low enough CVs were simply discarded and the experiments repeated until the desired number was reached. It was as if you flipped a coin enough times to get ten heads in a row and then declared that the coin always returned heads. Even within the “good” data runs, Tyler and Erika noticed that some values were deemed outliers and deleted. When Erika asked the group’s more senior scientists how they defined an outlier, no one could give her a straight answer. Erika and Tyler might be young and inexperienced, but they both knew that cherry-picking data wasn’t good science

Who is this?” I answered, cutting straight to the chase. “Wow. Is that really how you answer your phone?” the female asked. “Either you’re answering the question or I’m hanging up.” “OK. OK. So grumpy. It’s Kasey. We met at Oat + Olive.” “Yeah, I remember. You’re a little too late. Go ahead and delete the number, Kasey.” “Wow. You move fast.” She chuckled. I didn’t bother responding. There weren’t any time restrictions when it came to Ever and I.

It could be as straightforward as the notion of a "mental reboot"- Matt Johnson's biological control-alt-delete key- that jolts the brain out of destructive patterns (such as Kessler's "capture"), affording an opportunity for new patterns to take root. It could be that, as Franz Vollenweider has hypothesized, psychedelics enhance neuroplasticity. The myriad new connections that spring up in the brain during the psychedelic experience, as mapped by the neuroimaging done at Imperial College, and the disintegration of well traveled old connections, may serve simply to "shake the snow globe," in Robin Carhart-Harris's phrase, a predicate for establishing new pathways. Mendel Kaelen, a Dutch postdoc in the Imperial lab, proposes a more extended snow metaphor: "Think of the brain as a hill covered in snow, and thoughts as sleds gliding down that hill. As one sled after another goes down the hill, a small number of main trails will appear in the snow. And every time a new sled goes down, it will be drawn into the preexisting trails, almost like a magnet." Those main trails represent the most well-traveled neural connections in your brain, many of them passing through the default mode network. "In time, it become more and more difficult to glide down the hill on any other path or in a different direction. "Think of psychedelics as temporarily flattening the snow. The deeply worn trails disappear, and suddenly the sled can go in other directions, exploring new landscapes and, literally, creating new pathways." When the snow is freshest, the mind is most impressionable, and the slightest nudge-whether from a song or an intention or a therapists's suggestion- can powerfully influence its future course. p384

That's my future self, that's my future self. Listen to you. You sound like an idiot. Who do you think you are? Imagine there's a version of you that sees all of it. A version that knows when versions are messing with the other ones, trying to get things off track, trying to erase things. A record of all the keystrokes, the storage of all the versions, partial and deleted and written over. All the changes. All truths about all parts of our self. We break ourselves up into parts. To lie to ourselves, to hide things from ourselves. You are not you. You are not what you think you are. You are bigger than you think. More complicated than you think. You are the only version of you that is you. There are less of you than you think, and more. There are a million versions of you, half a trillion. One for every particle, every quantum coin flip. Imagine this uncountable number of your. You don't always have your own best interests at heart. That's true. You are your own best friend and your own worst enemy. You can't trust a guy who gives you a book and says, This is your life. He might have been your future, he might not. Only you know how you get there. Only you know what you need to do. Imagine there is a perfect version of you. Out of all the oceans of oceans of you, there is exactly one who is perfectly you. And that's me. And I'm telling you: you are the only you. Does that make any sense?

Even after I die, please never delete my phone number.

In the midst of pain, we often make personal resolutions. We frantically swear off the supposed sources of our discontentment, saying, “I’m deleting his number; I will not drink anymore; I’ll never eat like that again.” All of our resolutions have one basic message, “I am done!” While this revulsion may be natural and sane, our reaction is childish and naïve. It is an immature mind that believes years of self-defeating patterns are overcome by throwing our arms up and exclaiming, “I’m done!

Unchain yourself from your computer. Unsubscribe from all unwanted newsletters. Set up an autoresponder that says, “I check my e-mail only twice per day. I will reply as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, phone this number.” A journalist for Fortune magazine once wrote that when he arrived back at the office after a two-week European vacation, he had more than 700 e-mails waiting for him. He realized that it would take him a week to get through them all before starting on important projects. For the first time in his career, he took a deep breath and punched the Delete All button, erasing those 700 e-mails forever. He then got busy with the projects that were really important to him and his company. His explanation was simple: “I realized that, just because somebody sends me an e-mail, it does not mean that they own a piece of my life.

he made a mental list: they would have to drive on the right, they would call it gas and not petrol, the letter ‘u’ would be deleted wholesale from words. Just think of the number of saved keystrokes! And there would be no beating around the bush – people would talk straight and say what they meant instead of saying they liked something that they secretly hated.

Fiscal Numbers (the latter uniquely identifies a particular hospitalization for patients who might have been admitted multiple times), which allowed us to merge information from many different hospital sources. The data were finally organized into a comprehensive relational database. More information on database merger, in particular, how database integrity was ensured, is available at the MIMIC-II web site [1]. The database user guide is also online [2]. An additional task was to convert the patient waveform data from Philips’ proprietary format into an open-source format. With assistance from the medical equipment vendor, the waveforms, trends, and alarms were translated into WFDB, an open data format that is used for publicly available databases on the National Institutes of Health-sponsored PhysioNet web site [3]. All data that were integrated into the MIMIC-II database were de-identified in compliance with Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act standards to facilitate public access to MIMIC-II. Deletion of protected health information from structured data sources was straightforward (e.g., database fields that provide the patient name, date of birth, etc.). We also removed protected health information from the discharge summaries, diagnostic reports, and the approximately 700,000 free-text nursing and respiratory notes in MIMIC-II using an automated algorithm that has been shown to have superior performance in comparison to clinicians in detecting protected health information [4]. This algorithm accommodates the broad spectrum of writing styles in our data set, including personal variations in syntax, abbreviations, and spelling. We have posted the algorithm in open-source form as a general tool to be used by others for de-identification of free-text notes [5].

I took your phone one night last week and put this number on your contacts under his name, he says, almost proudly. So when I text you, it looks like it’s from him. I’ve deleted the messages now, of course. And this is a pay-as-you-go phone, so it can’t be traced

Sometimes you have to delete the pictures, delete the number and accept the lesson and move on.

A couple days after that, we were told to take out our phones and delete every contact. People weren't having it. "I need these numbers, they said. The counselor was prepared for our incredulity. Every new crop of addicts must have reacted the same way. He countered our protestations with "Most of those people in your phone don't care about you. Delete everyone and make them earn their way back in. If they're good to you, reprogram their numbers. Otherwise, never talk to them again.

When he was gone I blocked his number and then deleted it from my phone. When I say good bye I mean it.

To become a number is to be explicitly subservient to a system. A number is a public verification of reduced freedom, status, and personhood.

Sometimes you just have to erase the messages, delete the numbers, and move on.

One way is to directly monetize services such as search and social media. You’d pay a low monthly fee to use them, but if you contributed a lot—if your posts, videos, or whatever are popular—you could also earn some money. A large number of people, instead of the tiny number of token stars in the present system, would earn money.

One way is to directly monetize services such as search and social media. You’d pay a low monthly fee to use them, but if you contributed a lot—if your posts, videos, or whatever are popular—you could also earn some money. A large number of people, instead of the tiny number of token stars in the present system, would earn money. (I acknowledge, of course, that there would have to be a way of making services available to those who couldn’t afford to pay even a small fee.)

From the point of view of the algorithms, you are no longer a name, but a number: the number of followers, likes, clicks, or other measures of how much you contributed to the BUMMER machine, moment to moment. Lanier, Jaron. Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now (Posición en Kindle879-881). Henry Holt and Co.. Edición de Kindle.

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today you will tell someone they are toxic. you will block her, delete her numbers and have no craving left in your bones to ever speak to her. the intent will not be to hurt her even though you know how hurtful your words are. the intention will be to guard your energy against leaks. you will remind yourself that it is okay to ask people to leave your space and for you to leave theirs without explanation. you will remind yourself that your well-being comes first. that you don’t owe anyone a reason for why you left. that sometimes it is necessary to simply leave without packing your favorite books, or the anniversary gifts or any of those things you once treasured.

no matter how many times i erased the contents of my phone i couldn't forget what happened outside it's bubble do not delete their number for today remove it from tomorrow

Tharion finished Sofie’s inbox, checked the junk folder, and then finally the trash. It was mostly empty. He clicked open her sent folder, and groaned at the tally. But he began reading again. Click after click after click. His phone chimed with an alert: thirty minutes until he needed to get into the water. He could reach the air lock in five minutes, if he walked fast. He could get through another few emails before then. Click, click, click. Tharion’s phone chimed again. Ten minutes. But he’d halted on an email dated three years ago. It was so simple, so nonsensical that it stood out. Subject: Re: Dusk’s Truth The subject line was weird. But the body of her email was even weirder. Working on gaining access. Will take time. That was it. Tharion scanned downward, toward the original message that Sofie had replied to. It had been sent two weeks before her reply. From: BansheeFan56 Subject: Dusk’s Truth Have you gotten inside yet? I want to know the full story. Tharion scratched his head, opened another window, and searched for Dusk’s Truth. Nothing. No record of a movie or book or TV show. He did a search on the email system for the sender’s name: BansheeFan56. Another half-deleted chain. This one originating from BansheeFan56. Subject: Project Thurr Could be useful to you. Read it. Sofie had replied: Just did. I think it’s a long shot. And the Six will kill me for it. He had a good feeling he knew who “the Six” referred to: the Asteri. But when Tharion searched online for Project Thurr, he found nothing. Only news reports on archaeological digs or art gallery exhibits featuring the ancient demigod. Interesting. There was one other email—in the drafts folder. BansheeFan56 had written: When you find him, lie low in the place I told you about—where the weary souls find relief from their suffering in Lunathion. It’s secure. A rendezvous spot? Tharion scanned what Sofie had started to reply, but never sent. Thank you. I’ll try to pass along the info to my She’d never finished it. There were any number of ways that sentence could have ended. But Sofie must have needed a place where no one would think to look for her and her brother. If Sofie Renast had indeed survived the Hind, she might well have come here, to this very city, with the promise of a safe place to hide. But this stuff about Project Thurr and Dusk’s Truth … He tucked those tidbits away for later. Tharion opened a search field within Declan’s program and typed in the sender’s address. He started as the result came in. Danika Fendyr.