Reality Hits Hard Quotes

Jason felt all the blood drain out of his face. He stood there as the reality of Mitch’s words hit him hard. One day it would be another man Haley would talk to, watch games with, or just sit in absolute peaceful silence while they worked or ate, and worst of all it would be another man holding Haley in his arms at night. 'Fuck…,' he gasped. 'Oh great, you broke him! Are you happy now?' Brad demanded. 'Come on, buddy, we’ll get you fixed up with a cold beer and a plate of hot wings. How does that sound? Does that sound good?' Numbly, Jason nodded.

The reality hits hard when one wants to pick up the phone to share some experience only to remember that the loved one is not at the other end.

IT WOULD BE interesting to examine this subject in terms of what is not a sense of humor. Lack of humor seems to come from the attitude of the “hard fact.” Things are very hard and deadly honest, deadly serious, like, to use an analogy, a living corpse. He lives in pain, has a continual expression of pain on his face. He has experienced some kind of hard fact—“reality”—he is deadly serious and has gone so far as to become a living corpse. The rigidity of this living corpse expresses the opposite of a sense of humor. It is as though somebody is standing behind you with a sharp sword. If you are not meditating properly, sitting still and upright, there will be someone behind you just about to strike. Or if you are not dealing with life properly, honestly, directly, someone is just about to hit you. This is the self-consciousness of watching yourself, observing yourself unnecessarily. Whatever we do is constantly being watched and censored. Actually it is not Big Brother who is watching; it is Big Me! Another aspect of me is watching me, behind me, just about to strike, just about to pinpoint my failure. There is no joy in this approach, no sense of humor at all.

I was absolutely speechless. The most beautiful man I had ever seen…IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, just said I was beautiful. I blushed when the reality hit me, and boy, did it hit me hard.

Night must fall. It fell hard tonight in Downtown Oakland, like a lead blanket. Started to sink in. What happened today. Slowly at first, like a dull ache. Then like a midnight jackhammer excavating my brain. That ordeal with the cops was a distraction that insulated me. Numbed me to the cold reality. But when I hit San Pablo driving past Phil’s place, a sensation started welling up from my gut—washing over me—pea-green nausea topped with a dollop of white rage. I gripped the wheel, composed myself.

But the reality hit home late that night. I had a wife. And now two children. And however hard I worked, I would always be poor. I would never be allowed to better myself, no matter how much effort I put in. My children would be faced with a life of hardship regardless of what I did.

That’s Princess Margaretha of Sweden,” Nysus says quietly. The gold faucet on the sink across from her catches my attention, and a pang of ingrained longing hits hard. It’s both smaller and more dramatic in reality. The gold gleams in our helmet lights, the name Aurora carved in dark swirling letters on both sides. It sets off a strange sense of dislocation in my brain. Like it can’t be real. Or I’m not. But maybe that’s just because of the dead princess floating in the corner.

Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert talks about this phenomenon in his 2006 book, Stumbling on Happiness. “The greatest achievement of the human brain is its ability to imagine objects and episodes that do not exist in the realm of the real,” he writes. “The frontal lobe—the last part of the human brain to evolve, the slowest to mature, and the first to deteriorate in old age—is a time machine that allows each of us to vacate the present and experience the future before it happens.” This time travel into the future—otherwise known as anticipation—accounts for a big chunk of the happiness gleaned from any event. As you look forward to something good that is about to happen, you experience some of the same joy you would in the moment. The major difference is that the joy can last much longer. Consider that ritual of opening presents on Christmas morning. The reality of it seldom takes more than an hour, but the anticipation of seeing the presents under the tree can stretch out the joy for weeks. One study by several Dutch researchers, published in the journal Applied Research in Quality of Life in 2010, found that vacationers were happier than people who didn’t take holiday trips. That finding is hardly surprising. What is surprising is the timing of the happiness boost. It didn’t come after the vacations, with tourists bathing in their post-trip glow. It didn’t even come through that strongly during the trips, as the joy of travel mingled with the stress of travel: jet lag, stomach woes, and train conductors giving garbled instructions over the loudspeaker. The happiness boost came before the trips, stretching out for as much as two months beforehand as the holiday goers imagined their excursions. A vision of little umbrella-sporting drinks can create the happiness rush of a mini vacation even in the midst of a rainy commute. On some level, people instinctively know this. In one study that Gilbert writes about, people were told they’d won a free dinner at a fancy French restaurant. When asked when they’d like to schedule the dinner, most people didn’t want to head over right then. They wanted to wait, on average, over a week—to savor the anticipation of their fine fare and to optimize their pleasure. The experiencing self seldom encounters pure bliss, but the anticipating self never has to go to the bathroom in the middle of a favorite band’s concert and is never cold from too much air conditioning in that theater showing the sequel to a favorite flick. Planning a few anchor events for a weekend guarantees you pleasure because—even if all goes wrong in the moment—you still will have derived some pleasure from the anticipation. I love spontaneity and embrace it when it happens, but I cannot bank my pleasure solely on it. If you wait until Saturday morning to make your plans for the weekend, you will spend a chunk of your Saturday working on such plans, rather than anticipating your fun. Hitting the weekend without a plan means you may not get to do what you want. You’ll use up energy in negotiations with other family members. You’ll start late and the museum will close when you’ve only been there an hour. Your favorite restaurant will be booked up—and even if, miraculously, you score a table, think of how much more you would have enjoyed the last few days knowing that you’d be eating those seared scallops on Saturday night!

I like you pretty okay as you are,” Rusty conceded. “I remember when you were just Angie’s friend who I vaguely thought might be high on cough syrup all the time. But then I saw how you were with Angela, and what you meant to her. I saw your home, the warmth of it, how different it was from mine, how much I wanted a home like that for Angela. I loved you, and the thought of all that came with you. I wanted to make that love mean something. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do something, and I wanted what I did to matter. I wanted to take what I felt for you and build something beautiful.” Kami glanced nervously up at his face. “That’s, um, that means a lot to me, but you have to know I’m not looking to settle down and build a home with anyone until my mid-thirties, if ever, because I am going to be pursuing my career as a hard-hitting reporter.” Rusty smacked her lightly on the top of her head. “You were a beautiful dream to me, you brat; please cease inserting your unpleasant and hurtful reality into my dream. It was the kind of dream that’s not supposed to come true. It was the kind of dream that does something else. It taught me who I wanted to be.

Instead Lise, lying unmoving in bed, knew; it was as if she had been upended over the wall of a well like that one in the last paragraph and had been falling in the same monotonous nothing way for weeks, down into it like Alice hazily pondering bats and cats, through nothing but languid gravity, in a place where a second of time was stretched so long and so thin that you could see veins in it; and all these seconds, all this time, she (Lise) had seemed to be hardly moving, though in reality the sides of the tunnel were flying up past her at thousands, maybe millions of miles an hour, the curved wall and its slime-cold roughly surfaced bricks only inches from the skin of her nose and chin and the knuckles of her hands and feet, and her whole body tensed, ready, waiting, always about to hit it, the surface of the water.

swirl together and our breathing clashes, my hips are busy rubbing against his. My legs spread just about as wide as I can get, forcing my pussy to open like a flower and hug his dick tight. Pushing off his chest, I lift up, grab his dick, and slam myself home. I almost can’t hear the harsh bite of his breath over my scream. I feel the rings hitting a spot deep within me that will have me begging in no time. The one pressed tight against my clit has my vision going hazy. “Have . . . to . . . move,” he warns, and once again, I find myself rolled onto my back. He doesn’t even pause when he flips and pounds into me. His hips slap against mine, his balls make a loud, wet sound as they hit my skin, and his eyes flash something I wish to God I understood. “H-h-harder!” He slams deep and leans up on his knees causing his dick to slip out almost completely. His large hands grab my hips and bring my body half off the bed. With my head still on the bed, the rest of my body hovers under his control as he pulls back and gives me my wish. My legs are dead weight, my hands clench tightly in the sheets, and my eyes hold his. The look in his eyes combined with the hard hitting of his piercings, and the awe-inspiring thrusts is enough to have me screaming. Screaming, begging, and pleading. I have lost control of my body. It is locked tight and shattering into pieces. His hips pick up speed but then slightly slow down towards the end of my release. He brings my body back down to the mattress and rocks his hips, causing a few more aftershocks to roll through my body. “Do you like my cock? Do you like having me so deep in your body you won’t be able to walk tomorrow? The way your pussy is gripping my dick and your wetness is coating my balls, I would say you fucking love it.” I whimper and he smiles. This isn’t the attractive smile he gives the public, no . . . this smile is pure fucking sexy evil. “Going to fuck you raw.” He warns before making true to his words. When he finally grabs my hips and locks our pelvises together, I have come twice and lost track of reality.

I like to say the idea of Phantasma came to me all at once, hitting me like a ton of bricks one cloudy afternoon in November 2021, but truly, my experience with obsessive-compulsive disorder has been building to this story for a very long time. During the process of brainstorming the sort of adult romance I wanted to debut with, I was going through a period where my obsessive-compulsive tendencies were flaring up more than usual and the voices in my head were getting a little too bold. To my friends, these compulsions were alarming little anecdotes over lunch—‘that sounds like a horror movie’ one of them said (affectionately)—which is funny because, to me, someone who has lived with OCD my entire life, it was just another day of being unfazed by the increasingly creative scenarios my mind likes to conjure. OCD has such a wide range of symptoms that it makes every person’s experience with it different. Unfortunately, it has also become a commonly misused term conflated with the idea of being overly neat and clean, when in reality a lot of people with OCD have much darker symptoms. In my experience this has made explaining the real effects of OCD very hard as well as making it more difficult for people to regard the condition seriously. It’s so important to me to convey, with the utmost sincerity, that I know people are not doing this to be malicious! Because of the misuse of the term, however, some of the ways this disorder is shown in this book may come off as exaggerated or dramatic—but the details of Ophelia’s OCD are drawn directly from experiences that I, or someone I know who shares my condition, have had first-hand. And it’s still only a fraction of the symptoms we live with daily. Ophelia’s story is a love letter to my journey of getting comfortable being in my own head (as well as my adoration for Gothic aesthetics and hot ghosts). And while her experience with OCD, my experience with OCD, might look a lot different to someone else’s, I hope that the same message rings clear: struggling with your mental health does not make you unworthy of love. And I hope the people you surround yourself with are the sort of people who know that, too.

Looking back from a safe distance on those long days spent alone, I can just about frame it as a funny anecdote, but the reality was far more painful. I recently found my journal from that time and I had written, ‘I’m so lonely that I actually think about dying.’ Not so funny. I wasn’t suicidal. I’ve never self-harmed. I was still going to work, eating food, getting through the day. There are a lot of people who have felt far worse. But still, I was inside my own head all day, every day, and I went days without feeling like a single interaction made me feel seen or understood. There were moments when I felt this darkness, this stillness from being so totally alone, descend. It was a feeling that I didn’t know how to shake; when it seized me, I wanted it to go away so much that when I imagined drifting off to sleep and never waking up again just to escape it, I felt calm. I remember it happening most often when I’d wake up on a Saturday morning, the full weekend stretching out ahead of me, no plans, no one to see, no one waiting for me. Loneliness seemed to hit me hardest when I felt aimless, not gripped by any initiative or purpose. It also struck hard because I lived abroad, away from close friends or family. These days, a weekend with no plans is my dream scenario. There are weekends in London that I set aside for this very purpose and they bring me great joy. But life is different when it is fundamentally lonely. During that spell in Beijing, I made an effort to make friends at work. I asked people to dinner. I moved to a new flat, waved (an arm’s-length) goodbye to Louis and found a new roommate, a gregarious Irishman, who ushered me into his friendship group. I had to work hard to dispel it, and on some days it felt like an uphill battle that I might not win, but eventually it worked. The loneliness abated. It’s taken me a long time to really believe, to know, that loneliness is circumstantial. We move to a new city. We start a new job. We travel alone. Our families move away. We don’t know how to connect with loved ones any more. We lose touch with friends. It is not a damning indictment of how lovable we are.

He embraced her. And touched her. And found her. Yennefer, in some astonishing way hard and soft at the same time, sighed loudly. The words they had uttered broke off, perished among the sighs and quickened breaths, ceased to have any meaning and were dissipated. So they remained silent, and focused on the search for one another, on the search for the truth. They searched for a long time, lovingly and very thoroughly, fearful of needless haste, recklessness and nonchalance. They searched vigorously, intensively and passionately, fearful of needless self-doubt and indecision. They searched cautiously, fearful of needless tactlessness. They found one another, conquered their fear and, a moment later, found the truth, which exploded under their eyelids with a terrible, blinding clarity, tore apart the lips pursed in determination with a moan. Then time shuddered spasmodically and froze, everything vanished, and touch became the only functioning sense. An eternity passed, reality returned and time shuddered once more and set off again, slowly, ponderously, like a great, fully laden cart. Geralt looked through the window. The moon was still hanging in the sky, although what had just happened ought in principle to have struck it down from the sky. ‘Oh heavens, oh heavens,’ said Yennefer much later, slowly wiping a tear from her cheek. They lay still among the dishevelled sheets, among thrills, among steaming warmth and waning happiness and among silence, and all around whirled vague darkness, permeated by the scent of the night and the voices of cicadas. Geralt knew that, in moments like this, the enchantress’s telepathic abilities were sharpened and very powerful, so he thought about beautiful matters and beautiful things. About things which would give her joy. About the exploding brightness of the sunrise. About fog suspended over a mountain lake at dawn. About crystal waterfalls, with salmon leaping up them, gleaming as though made of solid silver. About warm drops of rain hitting burdock leaves, heavy with dew. He thought for her and Yennefer smiled, listening to his thoughts. The smile quivered on her cheek along with the crescent shadows of her eyelashes.

When an ovulating woman offers herself to you, she's the choicest morsel on the planet. Her nipples are already sharp, her labia already swollen, her spine already undulating. Her skin is damp and she pants. If you touch the center of her forehead with your thumb she isn't thinking about her head—she isn't thinking at all, she's imagining, believing, willing your hand to lift and turn and curve, cup the back of her head. She's living in a reality where the hand will have no choice but to slide down that soft, flexing muscle valley of the spine to the flare of strong hips, where the other hand joins the first to hold both hip bones, immobilize them against the side of the counter, so that you can touch the base of her throat gently with your lips and she will whimper and writhe and let the muscles in her legs go, but she won't fall, because you have her. She'll be feeling this as though it's already happening, knowing absolutely that it will, because every cell is alive and crying out, Fill me, love me, cherish me, be tender, but, oh God, be sure. She wants you to want her. And when her pupils expand like that, as though you have dropped black ink into a saucer of cool blue water, and her head tips just a little, as though she's gone blind or has had a terrible shock or maybe just too much to drink, to her she is crying in a great voice, Fuck me, right here, right now against the kitchen counter, because I want you wrist-deep inside me. I hunger, I burn, I need. It doesn't matter if you are tired, or unsure, if your stomach is hard with dread at not being forgiven. If you allow yourself one moment's distraction—a microsecond's break in eye contact, a slight shift in weight—she knows, and that knowledge is a punch in the gut. She will back up a step and search your face, and she'll feel embarrassed—a fool or a whore—at offering so blatantly what you're not interested in, and her fine sense of being queen of the world will shiver and break like a glass shield hit by a mace, and fall around her in dust. Oh, it will still sparkle, because sex is magic, but she will be standing there naked, and you will be a monster, and the next time she feels her womb quiver and clench she'll hesitate, which will confuse you, even on a day when there is no dread, no uncertainty, and that singing sureness between you will dissolve and very slowly begin to sicken and die. The body knows. I listened to the deep message—but carefully, because at some point the deep message also must be a conscious message. Active, not just passive, agreement. I took her hand and guided the wok back down to the gas burner. Yes, her body still said, yes. I turned off the gas, but slowly, and now she reached for me.

Jak’ri nodded toward the cliff’s edge. “Shall we?” “Not if you give me time to think about it.” He flashed his teeth in a boyish grin. “One-two-three, jump!” he called and took off running, pulling her after him. Ava’s eyes widened and her heart thudded hard in her chest as she ran alongside him. Their feet hit the edge at the same time, and together they leapt off. Jak’ri whooped as they plummeted toward the ocean, the sound so wonderfully carefree and appealing that Ava found herself grinning big even as she shrieked and squeezed the hell out of his hand. He hit the water a split second before her. Cool liquid closed over their heads. Bubbles surrounded them as if they’d just jumped into a vat of club soda. Then he looped an arm around her waist and propelled them both to the surface. “That was crazy!” she blurted, unable to stop smiling as she swiped water from her face. “Crazy but fun?” he quipped, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Maybe,” she hedged. “But not as fun at this.” Propelling her upper body out of the water, she planted her hands atop his head and dunked him. As soon as she released him, she began a lazy backstroke. Jak’ri surfaced with a sputter and a laugh. When his silver eyes found her a few yards away, they acquired a devilish glint. “Oh, you’re going to regret that, little Earthling.” Ava shrieked when he dove for her. Rolling onto her stomach, she took off, swimming in earnest. Jak’ri’s fingers closed around one of her ankles. “Caught you!” She swam harder, getting absolutely nowhere, breaking into giggles as he issued dire threats in a villainous voice. When was the last time she had honest-to-goodness giggled? She yelped when he gave her ankle a yank. Then she was in his arms and he was grinning wickedly at her. “Think you can get the best of me, do you?” he taunted. Tucking his hands under her arms, he kicked his feet. Ava laughed as he tossed her up out of the water. Through the air she flew, landing on her back several yards away. The water again closed over her head. When she surfaced, she quickly bent her head to hide her smile and rubbed her eyes. “Hang on a sec,” she mumbled. Jak’ri immediately stopped laughing and swam toward her. “I’m sorry. Did you get something in your eye?” “No.” She grinned at him. “I just needed to lure you closer.” Then she swept her arm through the water in front of him, sending a cascade over his head. Sputtering, Jak’ri dove for her. Laughter abounded as they played, even more so when he started sharing tales of his exploits with his brother. Clunk. Ava jerked awake. Damn it! She really hated to wake up. She and Jak’ri had been romping and playing like children. Having to come back to the reality of this cell and the assholes who’d put her in it sucked.

WALKING WITH ANGELS IN THE COOL OF THE DAY A short time later I felt someone poke me hard in the left arm. I turned to see who it was, but there was no one there. At the time, I dismissed it and returned my attention to my thoughts. After a minute I was poked again, only this time the poke was accompanied with an audible voice! The Holy Spirit said, “I want to go for a walk with you in the cool of the day.” I jumped up totally flabbergasted. I quickly left the room and grabbed my coat, telling everyone that I was going for a walk in the “cool of the day.” It just happened to be minus 12 degrees Fahrenheit (or minus 24 Celsius)! The moment I walked out the door, the presence of the Holy Spirit fell upon me, and I began to weep again. The tears were starting to freeze on my cheeks, but I did not mind. God began to talk to me in an audible voice. I was walking through the streets of Botwood in the presence of the Holy Ghost. I could also sense that many angels were accompanying us. The angels were laughing and singing as we strolled along the snow-covered streets. It was about 8:00 A.M. The Holy Spirit led me along a road which was on the shore of the North Atlantic Ocean. For the first time since leaving the house, I began to notice that it was very cold. However, it was worth it to be in the presence of the Lord. I was directed to a small breezeway that leads out over the Bay of Exploits (this name truly proved to be quite prophetic) to a tiny island called Killick Island. As we were walking across the breezeway, the wind was whipping off the ocean at about 40 knots. Combined with the negative temperature, the wind was turning my skin numb, and my tears had crystallized into ice on my face and mustache. THE CITY OF REFUGE I said, “Holy Spirit, it is really cold out here, and my face is turning numb.” The Lord replied, “Do not fear; when we get onto this island, there will be a city of refuge.” I had no idea what a city of refuge was, but I hoped that it would be warm and safe. (See Numbers 35:25.) The winter’s day had turned even colder and grayer; there was no sun, and the dark gray sky was totally overcast. Snow was falling lightly, and being blown about by a brisk wind. As we walked onto Killick Island, it got even colder and windier. The Holy Spirit whispered to me, “Do not fear; the city of refuge is just up these steps, hidden in those fir trees.” When I ascended a few dozen steps, I saw a small stand of fir trees to the left. Just before I stepped into the middle of them, a shaft of brilliant bright light, a lone sunbeam, cracked the sky to illuminate the city of refuge. When I entered the little circle of fir trees, what the Holy Spirit had called a “city of refuge,” I encountered the manifest glory of God. Angels were everywhere. It was 8:50 A.M. As we entered, I walked through some kind of invisible barrier. Surprisingly, inside the city of refuge, the temperature was very pleasant, even warm. The bright beam of sunlight slashed into the cold, gray atmosphere. As this heavenly light hit the fresh snow, there appeared to be rainbows of colors that seemed to radiate from the trees, tickling my eyes. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit began to ask me questions. The Lord asked me to “describe what you are seeing.” Every color of the rainbow seemed to dance from the tiny snowflakes as they slowly drifted

People thought that the Truth Commission would be this quick fix, this Rugby World Cup scenario, and that we would go through the process and fling our arms around each other and be blood brothers forevermore. And that is nonsense--absolute nonsense. The TRC is where the reality of this country is hitting home and hitting home very hard. And that is good. But there will be no grand release--every individual will have to devise his or her own personal method of coming to terms with what has happened.

Happy Birthday, Dom,” she whispers softly, running her fingers over my chest before drifting off. Somewhere between the drift of sleep and consciousness, I claim the only gift I want, palming her thigh and drawing it up to bring her snugger to me. Pressing and keeping my lips to her forehead, I inhale her scent and let myself fall into the idea of us and linger there—knowing that eventually, I’ll be jerked away by the hard, unforgivable reality waiting for me when I hit the ground.

The reality of it hits like a ton of bricks. I’m completely frozen and powerless. Violated. Furious. I grit my teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to crack. I’m going to explode. In my head I keep replaying the image of Mina standing over me, cackling, “She’ll never get chosen now!

In contemporary science and research, investigators have to make claims to objectivity, an impossible and godlike (greater-than) position that floats in empty space and observes the field while not being part of it. It is an illusion of omniscience that has hit some barriers in quantum physics. No matter how hard you may try to separate yourself from reality, there are always observer effects as the reality shifts in relation to your viewpoint. Scientists call this the uncertainty principle.

The Earth is a testing ground for every one of us including the most prominent and of the most eminent ones. A place where we find duality in everything including how we see it and how it actually is in reality. Similarly, the duality concept is in people you see and meet who are either good, bad, or people who have two faces, one that they show and one that they are within. One is the duality of the personalities we veil through ourselves and another is the duality of the soul within. Whether are you a soul having fire within or are you a soul having light within and whichever you feed the most becomes your abode within and hereafter. You are both, your heaven and hell, fire and light, and finally, love or hate within. And our creator wants us to purify ourselves of the fire within and become light by being on the side of truth within and outside, righteousness within and outside, and pious within and outside, and finally sincere within and outside. Creator loves the one who has one tongue, one thing which is in the heart and which is on the tongue. The thing you are within is outside and the thing outside is within so you become successful. Like Rocky has said: “The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward." The matter is not that you have truth with you but the question is are you truthful?!. The truth will only set you free when you are truthful within yourself.

Years ago, I was invited to be on a panel at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I’d never set foot in a university lecture hall as a student. I’d barely graduated high school, yet I was at one of the most prestigious institutions in the country to discuss mental toughness with a handful of others. At some point in the discussion an esteemed MIT professor said that we each have genetic limitations. Hard ceilings. That there are some things we just can’t do no matter how mentally tough we are. When we hit our genetic ceiling, he said, mental toughness doesn’t enter into the equation. Everyone in that room seemed to accept his version of reality because this senior, tenured professor was known for researching mental toughness. It was his life’s work. It was also a bunch of bullshit, and to me he was using science to let us all off the hook.

wore a suit, but even in that Kelly could see his body was hard and fit under it—his tall, lean form toned and strong. His intense gaze made her breath go ragged. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be alone in the room with him if he had this kind of effect on her with his aunt and cousin with them. Jack sat on the edge of his desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He watched her quietly while she finished chatting with his aunt. Kelly wrapped things up and ushered Mabry out the door by four o’clock as she made excuses about her fiancé needing to get back to work. She closed the door behind his aunt and turned to Mr. Sutton. That’s when Kelly felt the ground fall out from under her and her world tilt on its axis. As she faced Jack Sutton she found herself feeling shaken and uneasy. She looked up at him and realized that, in essence, she had just waltzed into his office and proposed. “I can’t believe I did that.” She began to pace frantically. She wrapped her arms around her waist and circled the room. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” She might hyperventilate. She slid down onto the couch that sat along the longest wall in Jack’s office and tried to breathe, but ended up taking in huge gulps of air that felt as if they might choke her. For the first time since she came up with her harebrained scheme to get her hands on enough money to attend Yale Law School, the reality of what she had done hit her like a ton of bricks. She’d just proposed to one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. And he’d said yes.

The reality of toddlerhood hit me hard. Not only did my child not listen to me, she actively resisted nearly every single thing I said. We butted heads daily. My naturally chill husband and I started to see her as a tiny ticking time bomb.

People with too much positive thinking rely on visualizations, affirmations and a positive outcome for their dreams. People with negative thinking actually prepare hard to do what it takes. People with too much positive thinking, believe nothing bad can ever happen to them and live in a rosy world. Thus, when life hits them, it hits them in a way they never expected. People with negative thinking know it can get bad at any moment. Therefore, they save, invest and get Insurance for the same! Thus sometimes, negative thinking is better than positive thinking!

I'm not a masochist. I don't want to be hurt. Or injured. Just... pushed. I want that sort of... effacement, I guess... where my rationality is dissolved by sensation, emotion, adrenaline, all that. Like when you bike or run, and you think you've hit the wall and have to stop because your lungs don't seem to be able to suck in enough air, your heart is pounding so hard it hurts, and your legs feel soft, like you're just going to fall down. But you keep going, and after a while, it's almost like floating. Like you're apart from your body, but at the same time you feel, hear, see everything with this unfamiliar intensity. Or when you eat too much chili pepper or wasabe, and you feel your body respond, it's not a thought process. Your veins throb, you sweat, there's a weird euphoria. And there's pain, too. You can't stop it. You just have to wait for it to pass, and while you do, you, your reality is subsumed in the... transcendence of the pain. Krylov, Varian (2008-05-19). Abduction (Kindle Locations 9214-9221). eXcessica. Kindle Edition.

It all happened within the blink of an eye. God locked Day’s arms behind his back and rolled pinning him down to the mattress and baring all his weight down on him. Day’s heart rate skyrocketed at the realization that God wasn’t awake yet. “Cash, it’s me! It’s Leo! Wake up dammit!” he shouted at God and bucked to try to free his hands that were trapped painfully behind him. His large biceps bulged and flexed with everything he had. He needed to be able to put up his guard. If God started to swing, he had to be able to block the hits. God blinked again and Day saw the reality seeping back into him. God’s head jerked back and forth looking all around the dark room. “Cash, its Leo. Look at me. Look at me,” Day said quickly. Cash turned and looked down at him and it broke his heart when God squeezed his eyes shut and let go of Day’s arms. Day knew that God felt horrible, not only from the nightmare but from potentially hurting him too. Day held in his groan of pain at bringing his hands from behind his back and wrapped them protectively around God. He pulled God down to his chest. “I got you, baby. It’s all right, it’s just a dream,” Day whispered softly while stroking God everywhere that he could reach. God’s heart was beating so hard Day could feel it against his own bare chest. He dug his hands in God’s long hair and massaged his scalp. God squeezed him back. “He shot you. I couldn’t get to you in time and he shot you,” God said through ragged breaths. “Fuck,” Day hissed and held God tight to him. “No, baby. You did get to me in time. I’m right here with you. You saved me. You will always save me.” Day opened his legs and let God sink in between them. “Damn, I love you so fucking much,” Day whispered. Day placed kisses on the side of God’s face while God had his nose buried in his neck breathing him in. They lay still while both of their heart rates came back down to normal.

My expectations from the university were perhaps too idealistic. I had dreams of learning things about innovation and discovery in the field of technology, but all of it hit the ground hard, when I faced with the pathetic reality of the so-called higher education system. To my surprise, I found myself stuck behind the walls of meaningless facts, figures and rankings. It occurred to me that, it was not actually a place for education, rather it was a place where you go to get your head filled with useless undigested information, that you’d probably never use throughout your entire life. It was not education, and moreover, it was definitely not science.

Our existence is based on the variety of life that we have experienced. Yet, in the end when the reality of identity crises strikes, the truth of life can be overpowering and can hit us hard.

Pain slammed into my entire body as I remembered another little boy who’d hugged like this…with everything he was. I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes as I was transported to the past and I automatically dropped my mouth to kiss the boy’s head like I always did, but reality hit me hard when there was no lush dark hair to greet me and there was no whispered “Meu melhor...” My best... I

I was going through The Box the other day, the one that's moved with me since college containing all of my important stuff, and I found some old letters and cards from relationships gone by. As I read them I got all misty and nostalgic, and suddenly I realized something for the first time in the month I've been married. I can no longer date. I shared this revelation with my husband, asking, "Did you know this? That you can't date anyone else? Ever? For the rest of your life?" He laughed and replied, "Well, yes, I did." He paused. "You didn't?" "Of course I did . . . theoretically," I said, " but I guess the reality didn't hit me until now. I mean, our vows didn't specifically say 'No More Dating Other People.'" He kind of glared at me this time. "It's implied." OK, fine. I don't want to date anyone else anyway. It's just hard sometimes to let go of the past, and the older I get, the more past I have to let go of. But since I've always found it helpful to bare my soul to complete strangers, I will take this opportunity to give my deceased dating life a decent burial.

The reality of his predicament hit him hard. There’s no way out of this now, save arrest or death. Professor Ratib had made it sound so academic, but it wasn't. Regardless of whether we're attacking human- or infrastructure-related targets, it's terrorism. If Husam thinks that I’m a risk, I’m dead.

But you can’t forget how easy it is to seduce people,” Ben said. “You see that everywhere, be it politics or religion. Even here in Europe, populists have been wildly successful despite the fact that this continent has a lot of experience with fanatical right- and left-wing ideology.” “Most people yearn for guidance,” Fritz said. “They want others to determine their lives for them, at least when all is said and done. In politics, the only people who are respected are so-called ‘strong’ leaders or politicians who show the way. It’s hardly surprising these people don’t have a basic understanding of democracy.” “That’s the problem,” said Ben. “People love to be told what they should do. And the worse they have it, the more grateful they are for a strong hand to push them.” “That said, we don’t exactly have it that bad here in Europe,” Hannes added. “Sure, there’s always some economic crisis and unemployment is rising, but still most people have it good enough that they can’t be enthralled by some dictator.” “Economic crises aren’t the only reason people turn to extremism,” Fritz said. “It’s also about personal crises. Look at the faces on the bus. How many people look happy?” “They’re probably just tired,” Ben joked. “But it’s true. There are plenty of studies which suggest that people in poorer countries are happier than we are. But when did you last hear politicians discuss the question of how we actually want to live? Emotional needs are basically irrelevant. It’s all about growth, recovery, optimization, and efficiency. If you work day after day in some office like a robot, there’s an inner emptiness that reality shows and dramas on television can no longer fill. Take a look at the nonsense the masses tune into night after night. You can’t consume real feelings, you have to live them.” “But that’s exactly what our society has forgotten how to do,” Fritz said. “You need someone to advise you on how to be ‘happy.’ At some schools, students can now choose Happiness as an elective. How sad is that? Have we become so far removed from real life that we have to introduce happiness as a school subject? How can society not understand something so fundamental?” “Now some charismatic, eloquent politician appears who knows exactly how to appeal to people,” Ben said. “Do you really think we would be completely immune to a politician’s temptations and promises today?” “Okay, okay!” Hannes laughed and raised his hands. “I give up. At the next neo-Nazi march, I’ll be standing in the front line of the counterdemonstration, I promise. But speaking of robots—I spent way too long spinning on the hamster wheel today. And Fritz has already given me a list of things to do tomorrow. It’s been lovely chatting, but I have to hit the hay.” “Man! But we’ve only just started planning the revolution,” Ben joked. “No, my young colleague’s right.” Fritz rose from his chair. “I just have to use the bathroom and then I’ll be on my way.” “It’s straight ahead.” Ben showed him the way and handed Hannes another beer. “Come on, you Goody Two-Shoes. Let’s have a

if there really is no way you can win, you never say it out loud. You assess why, change strategy, adjust tactics, and keep fighting and pushing till either you’ve gotten a better outcome or you’ve died. Either way, you never quit when your country needs you to succeed. As Team 5 was shutting down the workup and loading up its gear, our task unit’s leadership flew to Ramadi to do what we call a predeployment site survey. Lieutenant Commander Thomas went, and so did both of our platoon officers in charge. It was quite an adventure. They were shot at every day. They were hit by IEDs. When they came home, Lieutenant Commander Thomas got us together in the briefing room and laid out the details. The general reaction from the team was, “Get ready, kids. This is gonna be one hell of a ride.” I remember sitting around the team room talking about it. Morgan had a big smile on his face. Elliott Miller, too, all 240 pounds of him, looked happy. Even Mr. Fantastic seemed at peace and relaxed, in that sober, senior chief way. We turned over in our minds the hard realities of the city. Only a couple weeks from now we would be calling Ramadi home. For six or seven months we’d be living in a hornet’s nest, picking up where Team 3 had left off. It was time for us to roll. In late September, Al Qaeda’s barbaric way of dealing with the local population was stirring some of Iraq’s Sunni tribal leaders to come over to our side. (Stuff like punishing cigarette smokers by cutting off their fingers—can you blame locals for wanting those crazies gone?) Standing up for their own people posed a serious risk, but it was easier to justify when you had five thousand American military personnel backing you up. That’ll boost your courage, for sure. We were putting that vise grip on that city, infiltrating it, and setting up shop, block by block, house by house, inch by inch. On September 29, a Team 3 platoon set out on foot from a combat outpost named Eagle’s Nest on the final operation of their six-month deployment. Located in the dangerous Ma’laab district, it wasn’t much more than a perimeter of concrete walls and concertina wire bundling up a block of residential homes. COP Eagle’s

They called it heartbreak, But my whole body ached for you when you left. I didn’t cry puddles of tears — I cried enough to fill rivers That became a swimming pool I would dip into From time to time When I saw old photos, That I would sink in to When the reality that you were gone Hit me like a tornado, Shook my world like an earthquake. They called it heartbreak, But my tongue stung from the times I bit it so hard, I tasted blood To stop myself from telling our story. My head ached from the screaming, Chanting, repeating I pushed myself to do To force myself to get over you — He’s gone, he doesn’t love you; He’s gone, silly girl, move on. They called it heartbreak, But despite the pain I felt In every inch of my body, It was my legs that ached the most, Because every step forward without you Was the worst pain I had ever felt.

Toughness is about embracing the reality of where we are and what we have to do. Not deluding ourselves, filling ourselves with a false confidence, or living in denial. All of that simply sends us sprinting off the line, only to slow to a walk once reality hits. Being tough begins long before we enter the arena or walk on stage. It starts with our expectations

I kept telling myself that I was great, that I was enviable, that I was attractive, and wonderful, but this source of self-worth seemed trivial, because whenever my circumstances changed, so did the narrative that I told myself. It’s hard to think you’re the bomb when your life looks like a bomb hit it. It seemed disingenuous to tell myself that I was awesome when the people around me thought otherwise. In a way, it felt like I was lying to myself. The deep, inward insecurity probed at me, exposing that one opinion —mine or theirs —was not rooted in reality.

Toughness is about embracing the reality of where we are and what we have to do. Not deluding ourselves, filling ourselves with a false confidence, or living in denial. All of that simply sends us sprinting off the line, only to slow to a walk once reality hits. Being tough begins long before we enter the arena or walk on stage. It starts with our expectations.

He was like, 'You can do whatever you want in life, but reality hits hard'. You know what I told him? I said, 'Well, I would love to get hit by reality, hard.' He laughed. I said, 'Because if I don't, if I hide from what I want under the assumption that reality is against me, then one day I'll be old and grey and I'll look back at a time when I thought I had everything to lose and all of a sudden, I'll see everything that I had to gain instead of everything I was afraid to lose. So, no matter what, I'm going to try. If I fail, you all can laugh at me.' I shrugged, 'But in the end, we all lose everything anyway.

A tougher runner isn’t one who is blind with ambition or confidence, but one who can accurately assess the demands and the situation. The magic is in aligning actual and expected demands. When our assessment of our capabilities is out of sync with the demands, we get the schoolchildren version of performance. Starting a project with reckless confidence, only to look up and realize the work it entails. When such a mismatch exists, we’re more likely to spiral toward doubts and insecurities, and to ultimately abandon our pursuit. When actual and expected demands align, we’re able to pace to perfection, or outside of the athletic realm, perform up to our current capabilities. It’s why experienced writers don’t go into their first draft expecting perfection. They understand it’s going to be messy, and often not that good. Contrary to old-school toughness wisdom, a touch of realistic doubt keeps us on track and makes it more likely that we will persist. Toughness is about embracing the reality of where we are and what we have to do. Not deluding ourselves, filling ourselves with a false confidence, or living in denial. All of that simply sends us sprinting off the line, only to slow to a walk once reality hits. Being tough begins long before we enter the arena or walk on stage. It starts with our expectations.

Nehemia’s death hung around him, followed his every step. It had been days since he’d dared look in the mirror. Even if it hadn’t been the king who had ordered Nehemia dead, if Chaol had warned Celaena about the unknown threat, at least she would have been looking out. If he’d warned Nehemia, her men would have been on alert, too. Sometimes the reality of his decision hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe.

If we artificially elevate our confidence, telling ourselves this will be a piece of cake or we’ve got this in the bag, our brain is constantly receiving the message that we won’t have to work hard to achieve our goal. If it’s supposed to be easy, why should we waste excess resources? When reality hits us, we jump straight to a freak-out. “What’s happening?! I thought this was going to be easy or within our capabilities,” our mind might think. Cultivating fake confidence creates insecurity for our minds to exploit.

I remember a psychiatrist once telling me that I gamble in order to escape the reality of life, and I told him that’s why everyone does everything. But I’ve had plenty of wasted nights, after losses and bigger losses, to consider the question more seriously. So why the attraction? Most people would think it’s the wins that keep the gambler going, but any gambler knows this is not true. As you place your chips on the craps table, you feel anxiety and impatience. When the red dice hit the green felt with a thunk and you’re declared the winner and the chips are pushed toward you, you feel relief. Relief is all. And relief is fine, but hardly what a man would give the whole rest of his life to gain. It has to be something else, and the best I’ve come up with is this: It is a particular moment. A magic moment that occurs after the placing of a bet and before the result of that bet. It 1s after the red dice are thrown but before they lie still on the green felt where they fall. It is when the dice are in the air, and as long as they are there, time stops. As long as the red dice are in the air, the gambler has hope. And hope is a wonderful thing to be addicted to.

I remember a psychiatrist once telling me that I gamble in order to escape the reality of life, and I told him that’s why everyone does everything. But I’ve had plenty of wasted nights, after losses and bigger losses, to consider the question more seriously. So why the attraction? Most people would think it’s the wins that keep the gambler going, but any gambler knows this is not true. As you place your chips on the craps table, you feel anxiety and impatience. When the red dice hit the green felt with a thunk and you’re declared the winner and the chips are pushed toward you, you feel relief. Relief is all. And relief is fine, but hardly what a man would give the whole rest of his life to gain. It has to be something else, and the best I’ve come up with is this: It is a particular moment. A magic moment that occurs after the placing of a bet and before the result of that bet. It 1s after the red dice are thrown but before they lie still on the green felt where they fall. It is when the dice are in the air, and as long as they are there, time stops. As long as the red dice are in the air, the gambler has hope. And hope is a wonderful thing to be addicted to.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions and challenges for my husband and me. We found ourselves facing a catastrophe when the wildfires in California destroyed our home. The fire spread so rapidly that we barely had time to grab anything. All we managed to take with us were our phones, laptops, and the car. Everything else was lost in the flames. The devastation was hard to process. We were left with nothing, feeling completely overwhelmed by the loss.Luckily, my sister opened her doors to us, offering a place to stay while we figured out what to do next. Still, the reality of the situation was hard to swallow. We had no idea where we would go, how we would start over, or what the future held. Tomorrow, we will be moving to a hotel, and from there, we will begin searching for a new apartment. It's a small step, but one that feels important in our journey to rebuild.Amid all the chaos, there has been an unexpected glimmer of hope. Last year, my husband and I made a costly mistake in the cryptocurrency market, losing $50,000 in a bad investment. We tried everything to recover it, but it felt like we were hitting dead ends at every turn. Just when we thought there was no way to get our funds back, I decided to reach out to a company called BOTNET CRYPTO RECOVERY.I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was desperate to recover some of the money we had lost. To my surprise, they responded quickly and got to work right away. Within hours of sharing the details of our situation, they began investigating. And then, just a few days later, I received the best news I could have hoped for. BOTNET CRYPTO RECOVERY had already managed to recover over 70 percent of the stolen USDT. I was shocked, relieved, and deeply grateful. It’s a feeling I can’t quite describe, knowing that something we thought was gone for good is coming back to us.While there’s still work to be done, I’m confident that the rest of the funds will be recovered soon. This unexpected success has given me hope during a time when it was hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a reminder that even in the most difficult times, there are people who can help, and there is always a chance to rebuild. Though we’ve lost so much, I know we’re not alone in this journey, and with a little help, we will come through this stronger. CONTACT INFO BELOW. Email them at: support (@) botnetcryptorecovery (.) c o m Whatsapp Web +1 (431) 801-8951

When reality hits hard and battles turn into wars to fight, What story do you tell yourself to sleep at night?

On January 1st, I discovered that I had fallen victim to a fraudulent international shipping investment that cost me a staggering AU$8,000,000. As the owner of a shipping company based in Australia, I had been diligently searching for ways to expand and strengthen our business. When I came across an enticing opportunity that promised high returns through international shipping ventures, it seemed like the perfect move to accelerate our growth. After what I thought was thorough research and careful consideration, I decided to invest a significant amount of money. At first, everything appeared legitimate. The shipping company seemed professional, and I was regularly updated with reports that reassured me the investment was progressing as planned. However, over time, I started noticing discrepancies. Payments were delayed, communication became sporadic, and red flags began to pop up in the details of the transactions. Something didn’t feel right, and before long, the truth hit me hard—I had been scammed. The company I had trusted was a fraudulent operation, never intending to deliver on their promises.The financial loss was devastating, but the emotional toll was even worse. Not only had I lost a large sum of money, but I also faced the daunting reality of how this would affect my business, employees, and reputation. I felt completely helpless and unsure of how to recover from such a blow.That’s when I found HACK SAVVY TECH . From the very first interaction, their team demonstrated an incredible level of expertise and professionalism. They immediately grasped the gravity of the situation and laid out a clear plan to investigate the fraud and recover my lost funds. With their advanced tools and deep knowledge of cyber-investigation, they were able to track down the fraudulent activities, uncover key individuals involved, and bring them to justice.Thanks to HACK SAVVY TECH tireless efforts, they successfully secured a refund for my company, recovering a significant portion of the investment. Their work not only saved my business financially but also restored my confidence. I’m beyond grateful for their support, and I now feel empowered to move forward, knowing that I have a trusted partner like HACK SAVVY TECH by my side. mail: contactus @ hacksavvy technology . com Website: https: // hacksavvy techrecovery . com Whatsapp : +7.9.9.9.8.2.9.5.0.3.8

All along, I thought I was protecting the kids. Shielding them from realities behind closed doors. Sacrificing to maintain a two-parent Christian home. Making hard, better choices for their faith, family, and education than I made for myself, trying to safeguard them from pain. But they saw. That was obvious now. And staying meant raising sons who hit women. Staying meant raising a daughter who stayed with the man who hit her. And that would be my fault. I'd be the one who taught them life like this was okay. I didn't just let erratic violence continue happening---I helped by refusing to leave. Good mothers don't let this happen to their kids.

RECLAIM STOLEN CRYPTO REVIEWS. HIRE DIGITAL TECH GUARD RECOVERY Cryptocurrency has emerged as a transformative force in the financial world, attracting both investors and opportunistic scammers. I met a fraudulent website, coexus pro, exemplifies the darker side of this digital currency landscape. The site claimed to offer daily returns through an "arbitrage trading crypto bot" and misleadingly adopted the branding of a reputable cryptocurrency exchange, which initially instilled a sense of trust. Eager to take advantage of the promised 1% daily return, I deposited a significant amount of money. For the first few days, everything appeared to be going smoothly; I received the expected returns and was able to withdraw funds without any complications. This initial success made me increasingly confident in the platform, leading me to believe that I had made a wise investment. My optimism quickly turned to dismay when I attempted to make another withdrawal. I was informed that my account balance had fallen below their liquidity requirement, and to resolve this issue, I needed to deposit additional funds. Trusting their claims, I complied, thinking it was a minor hurdle. Unfortunately, when I tried to withdraw again, I was met with the excuse of "blockchain congestion," which they claimed would delay my withdrawal for 24 days. As days turned into weeks, I grew increasingly anxious. After 50 days of waiting, I reached out to their support team once more, only to be confronted with yet another demand. They claimed I needed to pay 15% of my account balance for "technical support" from the "Federal Reserve’s blockchain regulator. "It was at this moment that the reality of the situation hit me hard: I had fallen victim to a sophisticated scam. The website eventually went inactive, and I discovered that the scammers had simply transitioned to a new site, maintaining a nearly identical layout to continue their deceitful operations. In my search for answers, I turned to social media and found a review from another victim who had experienced a similar ordeal. This individual shared how Digital Tech Guard Recovery had successfully assisted him in recovering his lost funds. Inspired by his story, I immediately reached out to Digital Tech Guard Recovery for help. WhatsApp: +1 (443) 859 - 2886

Jumping into the world of cryptocurrency can be an exhilarating journey, especially during a bull run when prices are soaring and the potential for profit seems limitless. However, for many newcomers, the lack of knowledge can lead to unfortunate situations, as I discovered firsthand. Eager to grow my savings, I became a target for a scam that would cost me dearly.It all started when I encountered a fake crypto wallet support agent who seemed legitimate at first. They offered assistance with my wallet, and in my eagerness to resolve a minor issue, I unwittingly handed over my seed phrase. This critical mistake allowed the scammer to drain my wallet of 63 SOL, which was valued at approximately $9,800 at the time. The realization hit me hard; I felt a mix of panic and regret as I watched my hard-earned investment vanish.In my frantic search for a solution, I turned to Google, hoping to find recovery services that could help me reclaim my lost funds. However, I was met with a daunting reality: the internet is rife with secondary scams that prey on individuals like me who are desperate to recover their losses. I was hesitant to trust anyone, fearing that I might fall victim to yet another scam.Amidst the chaos, I stumbled upon SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL. What set them apart from the myriad of other services was their verified reviews and transparent process. They took the time to explain how they would track the stolen funds and assured me that they would only charge a fee after successfully recovering my assets. This level of transparency gave me a glimmer of hope.True to their word, SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL was able to recover 92% of my stolen SOL. They applied pressure on the scammer’s exchange account, leveraging their expertise and resources to retrieve my funds. The situation was a rollercoaster of emotions, but ultimately, I felt a sense of relief and gratitude for their assistance.For newcomers navigating the complex and often risky world of cryptocurrency, having a reliable safety net is crucial. SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL proved to be that safety net for me, showing that while the crypto space can be fraught with danger, there is SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL a trusted crypto recovery hackers available to help those in need. Spartan tech group retrieval contact : >>>> Email: spartan tech (@) cyber services . c o m OR support (@) spartan tech group retrieval. o r g Website: h t t p s : / / spartan tech group retrieval . o r g WhatsApp: + 1 ( 9 7 1 ) 4 8 7 - 3 5 3 8 Telegram: + 1 ( 5 8 1 ) 2 8 6 - 8 0 9 2

But what actually happens in this flashbulb moment? How does a flashbulb moment seem to collide with a long exposure, something that we know to be impossible? Two small portions of our brain known as the amygdalae – groups of hyper-responsive nerve bundles in the temporal lobe concerned primarily with memory and decision-making – commandeer the rest of the brain’s functions to react in a crisis. It is something that seems to stretch a one-second fall to five seconds or more, set off by fear and sudden shocks that hit our limbic system so hard that we may never forget them. But our perceived duration distortion is just that; clock time has not in fact offered to pause or elongate for us. Instead, the amygdalae have laid down memories with far more vivid detail, and the time distortion we perceive has just happened in retrospect. The neuroscientist David Eagleman, who has conducted many experiments into time perception and as a boy experienced a similar elongation of time when he fell off a roof, explains it in terms of ‘a trick of the memory writing a story of a reality’. Our neural mechanisms are constantly attempting to calibrate the world around us into an accessible narrative in as little time as possible. Authors attempt to do the same, for what is fiction if not time repositioned, and what is history if not time in retrospect, events re-evaluated in our own time?

He was ever so optimistic until reality hit him hard.

At the time, many female colleagues congratulated me for withstanding Barney’s withering attitude and outing what we’d now describe as a flagrant celebrity love cheat. Today, though, the ‘great’ New Order runaround fiasco of 1986 seems howlingly naive, a joyless and ill-judged one-note harrumph both on stars who refused to Play The Game and a desire to prove Barney Sumner a bounder – hardly for cheating on his wife (who I did not know existed) but for failing to turn up to a Smash Hits interview with an arsenal of hilarious jokes. We were always scuppered, anyway, with the realities of rock ’n’ roll: to protect the youngest viewers, the majority of references to wimmin, booze ’n’ drugs were merely skipped around in a riotous twinkle of euphemism, slang and innuendo, all ‘rock ’n’ roll mouthwash’, ‘foxtrels’ and ‘mazin’ rumpo … speryoooo!’ In

You will be crumpled by people around you, hit hard by the harsh realities of life and stamped by your weakness: but even then if you keep the fire of hope burning in your heart, if you believe in your ideas, if you go ahead challenging the tragedies that befell you, if you trust your skills and if you try working hard day and night to make your dreams come true, people will value you.

This hard reality about algorithms and robots will have profound effects on the sequence of AI-induced job losses. The physical automation of the past century largely hurt blue-collar workers, but the coming decades of intelligent automation will hit white-collar workers first. The truth is that these workers have far more to fear from the algorithms that exist today than from the robots that still need to be invented.

One fateful day, my life took an unexpected turn when I received a phone call that would change everything. The voice on the other end claimed to be from my bank, delivering alarming news: my account had been frozen due to suspicious activity. Panic surged through me as I listened, my heart racing at the thought of losing my hard-earned savings. At that moment, I had about 130,000 USD in my bank, equivalent to around 2 BTC. The caller spoke with such authority and urgency that I felt compelled to act immediately. They insisted that the only way to protect my funds was to transfer Bitcoin BTC to them for "safekeeping. In my fear and confusion, I believed I was making a wise decision to secure my finances. Without fully grasping the implications, I complied and transferred the equivalent of my savings in Bitcoin, convinced I was safeguarding my money. It wasn’t until later that the reality of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been duped, and the weight of my mistake was unbearable. Shame and disbelief washed over me as I realized how easily I had been manipulated. How could I have let this happen? The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming, and I was left grappling with the consequences of my actions. I learned about a recovery expert named RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY. Desperate to reclaim what I had lost, I reached out for help. RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY was knowledgeable and reassuring, explaining that there was a chance to trace the Bitcoin I had sent. With their expertise, they tracked the stolen funds to a peer-to-peer (P2P) exchanger based in the United Kingdom. This revelation sparked a glimmer of hope within me, a sense that perhaps justice could be served. RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY collaborated with Action Fraud, the UK's national reporting center for fraud and cybercrime, to take decisive action against the scammers. Knowing that law enforcement was involved provided me with a sense of relief. The thought that the culprits behind my suffering could be brought to justice was comforting. In an incredible turn of events, RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY successfully recovered all my funds, restoring my faith in the possibility of justice and recovery. WhatSapp Info: +1 4 1 4 8 0 7 1 4 8 5 Telegram Info: https: // t. me/ Rapid digital recovery519 Email Info: rapid digital recovery (@) execs. com

WEBSITE W.W.W.techcyberforcerecovery.com WHATSAPP +1 561.726.36.97 EMAIL Techcybersforcerecovery@cyberservices.com I Thought I Was Too Smart to Be Scammed, Until I Was. I'm an attorney, so precision and caution are second nature to me. My life is one of airtight contracts and triple-checking every single detail. I'm the one people come to for counsel. But none of that counted for anything on the day I lost $750,000 in Bitcoin to a scam. It started with what seemed like a normal email, polished, professional, with the same logo as my cryptocurrency exchange's support team. I was between client meetings, juggling calls and drafting agreements, when it arrived. The email warned of "suspicious activity" on my account. My heart pounding, I reacted reflexively. I clicked on the link. I entered my login credentials. I verified my wallet address. The reality hit me like a blow to the chest. My balance was zero seconds later. The screen went dim as horror roiled in my stomach. The Bitcoin I had worked so hard to accumulate over the years, stored for my retirement and my children's future, was gone. I felt embarrassed. Lawyers are supposed to outwit criminals, not get preyed on by them. Mortified, I asked a client, a cybersecurity specialist, for advice, expecting criticism. But he just suggested TECH CYBER FORCE RECOVERY. He assured me that they dealt with delicate situations like mine. I was confident from the first call that I was in good hands. They treated me with empathy and discretion by their staff, no patronizing lectures. They understood the sensitive nature of my business and assured me of complete confidentiality. Their forensic experts dove into blockchain analysis with attention to detail that rivaled my own legal work. They tracked the stolen money through a complex network of offshore wallets and cryptocurrency tumblers tech jargon that appeared right out of a spy thriller. Once they had identified the thieves, they initiated a blockchain reversal process, a cutting-edge method I was not even aware was possible. Three weeks of suffering later, my Bitcoin was back. Every Satoshi counted for. I sat in front of my desk, looking at the refilled balance, tears withheld. TECH CYBER FORCE RECOVERY not only restored my assets, they provided legal-grade documentation that empowered me to bring charges against the scammers. Today, I share my story with colleagues as a warning. Even the best minds get it. But when they do, it is nice to know the Wizards have your back.

Cryptocurrency has attracted not only investors but also fraudsters who exploit the system for their gain. One of the most prevalent scams involves hacking verified Twitter X accounts of celebrities and crypto influencers. These accounts, often trusted by millions, are used to post fake giveaways, enticing desperate victims with promises of high returns. A common scheme involves messages like, "Send 1 ETH, get 5 ETH back," luring individuals into a trap where they send their funds, only to realize they have fallen victim to a scam. I found myself caught in this web of deceit when I came across a tweet from a verified account claiming to be the CEO of Coinbase. The tweet announced a limited-time giveaway, urging followers to send 1 ETH to participate, with the promise of receiving 5 ETH in return. Eager to capitalize on what seemed like a golden opportunity, I sent 5 ETH, convinced I was making a smart investment. At the time, that amounted to approximately $10,000. However, as soon as I completed the transaction, the reality hit me hard: the account had been hacked, and the scammer had vanished with my funds. I began searching for ways to recover my lost cryptocurrency. I felt a mix of anger and regret, knowing that I had been duped by a well-crafted scam. That’s when I discovered Techy Force Cyber Retrieval, a specialized firm dedicated to tracking stolen cryptocurrency. I reached out to Techy Force Cyber Retrieval, and they quickly got to work. Their team was knowledgeable and empathetic, understanding the distress I was experiencing after losing such a significant amount. The experts at Techy Force Cyber Retrieval were able to trace the stolen funds. They followed the digital trail left by the scammer, which provided a clear path to potentially recovering my lost assets. This was a crucial breakthrough, as it gave me hope that I might not have lost my investment forever, thanks to the diligent efforts of Techy Force Cyber Retrieval. With this information in hand, Techy Force Cyber Retrieval took immediate action. They contacted the relevant platforms, providing detailed evidence of the fraudulent activity and the connection to the hacked account. The legal pressure exerted by Techy Force Cyber Retrieval prompted these platforms to take action regarding the scammer's account, which was a significant step toward recovery. Thanks to the diligent efforts of Techy Force Cyber Retrieval, I was able to recover 4.5 ETH, which was approximately $9,000 at the time, a significant relief after the distressing experience. This ordeal has taught me the importance of vigilance in the cryptocurrency space and the potential for recovery through dedicated services like Techy Force Cyber Retrieval. I learned that while the allure of quick profits can be tempting, the risks associated with cryptocurrency investments are very real. Always verify the authenticity of any investment opportunity, especially those that seem too good to be true. With the help of T.e.l.e.g.r.a.m (at) t.e.c.h.c.y.b.e.r.f.o.r.c or W.h.a.t.s.A.p.p +.1.5.6.1.7.2.6.3.6.9.7, I found hope and support in a challenging situation, reinforcing the idea that there are resources available for those who fall victim to scams. Techy Force Cyber Retrieval helped me recover my funds and also empowered me to share my story, raising awareness about the dangers of cryptocurrency scams.

I rolled around and hit my face to wake myself up, but the pain proved that everything was real - because pain is another word for reality. The surfaces were hard, indeed. My eyes were wide open and lucid, but fear had deformed everything, it had driven me into the hallucination and delirium. I stood up, shook the industrial refuse from my clothes, and went back, my heart beating more strongly than it should have, to the door gaping open in the great building's wall. I knew full well that on the outside, the building was perfectly rectangular, that there was no way for the door to open into a room, and yet it led into a virtual depth, as inexplicable as the depth of a photograph, or the depths of perspective that create a third, and false, dimension in paintings on a wall. If you could go inside a trompe l'oeil mural, you wouldn't descend into its fraudulent depths, you would only get smaller as you moved along unseen lines of perspective. You wouldn't move through constantly changing spaces, with porphyry arches and columns and unintelligible Biblical images opening and closing behind you; rather, they would change their shapes constantly, rectangles would become parallelograms and trapezoids, the arcs of circles would change into hyperbolas, and circle into ellipses, becoming thinner and thinner as they tried to look deeper and farther away. I often thought that the world, along its three dimensions, is an equally deceiving trompe l'oeil for the infinitely more complex eye of our mind, with its two cerebral hemispheres taking in the world at slightly different angles, such that, by combining rational analysis and mystical sensibility, speech and song, happiness and depression, the abject and the sublime, it will make the amazing rosebud of the fourth dimension open before us, with its pearly petals, with its full depth, with its cubic surface, with its hypercubic volume. As though an embryo didn't grow in its mother's womb but arrived, from far away, and only the illusion of perspective made it seem to grow, like a wayfarer approaching along an empty road. A wayfarer who, after he passes through the iliac portal, continues his illusory rise, first an infant, then a child, then an adolescent, and in the end, when he is face-to-face with you and looks you in the eyes, he smiles at you like a friend from the other side of the mirror, having found you again, at last.

And that’s truly what it was. I was in love with her. The reality of this hit me like a gavel coming down. An instant call to attention. A hard stop. I was in love with her. But of course I was in love with her. Who wasn’t?

The reality was simply too big to absorb at first, but then it had hit her hard and sideways, taking her off the track she'd known.

Joining the fray was Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, a staunch creationist who often relied on Owen’s anatomical observations to challenge Darwin’s theory. The battle raged on for twenty years until, tragically, Wilberforce was thrown off a horse and died instantly when his head hit the pavement. It is said that Huxley was sipping his cognac at the Athenaeum in London when the news reached him. He wryly quipped to the reporter, “At long last the Bishop’s brain has come into contact with hard reality, and the result has been fatal.

My parents always dreamed of taking our family on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Japan. After years of saving and planning they finally decided it was time to make that dream a reality. My siblings and I were excited imagining the vibrant culture delicious food and stunning landscapes we would explore together. When we found an online travel agency offering a too-good-to-be-true deal on flights and hotels we jumped at the opportunity. The agent seemed professional even sending us fake confirmations that looked legitimate. We paid 104,500 in USDT believing we had secured everything for our dream vacation. However as the departure date approached the agency suddenly ghosted us. We received no tickets no refunds just silence. My parents were crushed because that money represented years of hard work and sacrifices. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being more cautious and for leading my family into this situation. We reported the scam to the police but they informed us that crypto scams were nearly impossible to trace leaving us feeling hopeless. One sleepless night while searching for solutions online I stumbled upon RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY. Initially skeptical but desperate for help I decided to contact them... WhatSapp: +1 4 1 4 8 0 7 1 4 8 5.. Their team responded immediately listening patiently to our story and offering reassurance. For the first time in weeks I felt a glimmer of hope. The experts at RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY worked tirelessly employing advanced techniques to track the stolen USDT across multiple wallets and exchanges. They kept us updated daily explaining each step in simple terms that we could understand. Within 5 days they managed to recover 89,000 enough for us to rebook our trip legally and fulfill our long-held dream. When the funds finally hit our wallet my mom burst into tears of joy. My dad who is usually stoic and reserved hugged me tightly and said We got a second chance. RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY didn’t just return our money they restored our faith in humanity and gave us back our joy. To anyone reading this if you’ve been scammed don’t lose hope. RAPID DIGITAL RECOVERY is the real deal. Email: rapid digital recovery (@) execs. com Telegram: https: // t. me/ Rapid digital recovery519

And then one day the river dried up: their shared world of imagination ceased, and the reason was that one of them – I can’t even recall which one it was – stopped believing in it. In other words, it was nobody’s fault; but all the same it was brought home to me how much of what was beautiful in their lives was the result of a shared vision of things that strictly speaking could not have been said to exist. I suppose, I said, it is one definition of love, the belief in something that only the two of you can see, and in this case it proved to be an impermanent basis for living. Without their shared story, the two children began to argue, and where their playing had taken them away from the world, making them unreachable sometimes for hours at a time, their arguments brought them constantly back to it. They would come to me or to their father, seeking intervention and justice; they began to set greater store by facts, by what had been done and said, and to build the case for themselves and against one another. It was hard, I said, not to see this transposition from love to factuality as the mirror of other things that were happening in our household at the time. What was striking was the sheer negative capability of their former intimacy: it was as though everything that had been inside was moved outside, piece by piece, like furniture being taken out of a house and put on the pavement. There seemed to be so much of it, because what had been invisible was now visible; what had been useful was now redundant. Their antagonism was in exact proportion to their former harmony, but where the harmony had been timeless and weightless, the antagonism occupied space and time. The intangible became solid, the visionary was embodied, the private became public: when peace becomes war, when love turns to hatred, something is born into the world, a force of pure mortality. If love is what is held to make us immortal, hatred is the reverse. And what is astonishing is how much detail it gathers to itself, so that nothing remains untouched by it. They were struggling to free themselves from one another, yet the very last thing they could do was leave one another alone. They fought over everything, disputed ownership of the most inconsequential item, were enraged by the merest nuance of speech, and when finally they were maddened by detail they erupted into physical violence, hitting and scratching one another; which of course returned them to the madness of detail again, because physical violence entails the long-drawn-out processes of justice and the law. The story of who had done what to whom had to be told, and the matters of guilt and punishment established, though this never satisfied them either; in fact it made things worse, because it seemed to promise a resolution that never came. The more its intricacies were specified, the bigger and realer their argument grew. Each of them wanted more than anything to be declared right, and the other wrong, but it was impossible to assign blame entirely to either of them. And I realised eventually, I said, that it could never be resolved, not so long as the aim was to establish the truth, for there was no single truth any more, that was the point. There was no longer a shared vision, a shared reality even. Each of them saw things now solely from his own perspective: there was only point of view.