Y Worry Quotes

We have to create culture, don't watch TV, don't read magazines, don't even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you're worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you're giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told 'no', we're unimportant, we're peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.' And then you're a player, you don't want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that's being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.

[Y]ou have to stop loving and pursuing Christ in order to sin. When you are pursuing love, running toward Christ, you do not have opportunity to wonder, *Am I doing this right?* or *Did I serve enough this week?* When you are running toward Christ, you are freed up to serve, love, and give thanks without guilt, worry or fear. As long as you are running, you're safe.

I came up with myself. FAYZ. Spelled F-A-Y-Z. It stands for Fallout Alley Youth Zone. Fallout Alley, and nothing but kids." Howard laughed his mean laugh. "Don't worry, Astrid, it's just a FAYZ. Get it? Just a FAYZ.

Ain't you thinkin' what's it gonna be like when we get there? Ain't you scared it won't be nice like we thought? No, she said quickly. No, I ain't. You can't do that. I can't do that. It's too much - livin' too many lives. Up ahead they's a thousan' lives we might live, but when it comes, it'll on'y be one.

a book has no unwanted calories and you don’t have to worry about sizes as long as the subject matter appeals to the recipient.

I'm in position." Charlie's voice, coming through my earpiece. "Wish I could say the same. All the blood's rushing to my head." "Thrope stuff?" Charlie sounds a little worried. "No, I'm upside down." "Why?" "I thought it would make me look all cool and ninja-y." "No one's supposed to be bale to see you." "Ah. I knew there was a flaw in my plan. Also, i slipped." "In fact, the whole point of being a ninja is not to be seen." "Fortunately I have this nifty safety harness, which is why I'm dangling instead of plummeting. Thanks for asking.

why am I worried about losing you, when I never had you to start

Apology accepted, son. Y’all listen to your better angels next time. They’ll save you from having to worry about all the shoulda, coulda, wouldas.

Outside I hopped into our vehicle, the taint of vampiric magic clinging to me like greasy smoke. “I feel soiled.” “Like walking into a room after a day of work, falling into bed, and realizing the sheets are covered in cold K-Y jelly,” Raphael said. I just stared at him. “With a funky smell,” he added. My Order conditioning failed me. “Ew.” Raphael grinned. “I‟m not even going to ask if that‟s happened to you.” I started the vehicle. “Has that happened to you?” “Yes.” Ew. “Where?” “In the bouda house. I was really tired and you‟ve seen that place: everything smells like sex . . .” “I don‟t want to know.” I peeled out of the parking lot. "So where are we going?” “To Spider Lynn‟s house. We‟re going to dig through her trash, and if that doesn‟t work, we‟ll do some breaking and entering.” Raphael frowned. “Do you know where she lives?” “Yes. I memorized the addresses of all the Masters of the Dead in the city. I have a lot of time on my hands.” He squinted at me, looking remarkably like a gentleman pirate from my favorite romance novels. “What else do you store in your head?” “This and that. I remember the first thing you ever said to me. You know, when you carried me from the cart into the tub so your mother could fix me.” “I imagine it was something very romantic,” he said. “Something along the lines of „I‟ve got you‟ or „I won‟t let you die.‟ “I was bleeding in the bathtub, trying to realign my bones, and my hyena glands voided from the pain. You said, „Don‟t worry, we have an excellent filtration system.‟” The look on his face was priceless. “That can‟t be the first thing.” “It was.” We drove in silence. “About the K-Y,” Raphael said. “I don‟t want to know!‟ “Once I washed it out of my hair—” “Raphael, why are you doing this?” “I want to make you go "Ew‟ again.” “Why in the world would you want to do that?” “It‟s an irrepressible male impulse. It just has to be done. As I was saying, once I washed it out—” “Raphael!” “No, wait, you‟ll like the next part.

One truth that has helped me accept some of the most difficult moments and heartbreaking decisions in my life is that I already have all for which I ask. I am blessed! I am delivered from my worries!

To anyone whom the more sting-y parts of this book resonate with, anyone who’s grieved or is grieving or has lost or is losing, anyone who worries about the black, empty nothingness . . . everything is going to be okay. Okay?

Jim, please tell me you know some hot girls," Drew begged. He let out a chuckle. "You might be in luck boys; my fiancé has a few single friends." "Don't worry about the pu**y here to the right of me," Drew said while Jim took a drink of his bottled water. "He's been hung up on a one-night-stand he had five years ago with a girl that smelled like Cocoa Puffs.

Si un inglés se siente incómodo en una situación (es decir, en todas) prepara té. Es una regla universal: cuando no sepas qué hacer, pon la tetera en marcha. ¿Que van a amputarte una pierna? No pasa nada, hombre, tomate una taza de té y asunto arreglado. ¿Que tu novio te pone los cuernos? Don't worry, que voy a colocar la tetera al fuego. ¿Que empieza la Tercera Guerra Mundial? Que no cunda el pánico, hay té para todos.

I tend to interpret that whole 'everyone's wife is a Mossad agent' thing in a more sort of metaphorical way--that people you're intimate with might be, like, 'double agents,' y'know? It's a weird kind of paranoia you get about people you love--that they might turn out to be completely different from who you think they are, that it's all been some sort of diabolically patient plot against you. I think that's a pretty normal fear you have in any serious relationship. And that's why it's such a popular part of the epic, because so many people can relate to that fear. But personally, I don't really worry about it too much.

SMILE!!!!! TODAY is the TOMORROW you worried about YESTERDA"Y

Your mind can solve what to do with a better question. Ask, how can I do X (thing you want) without Y happening (worry, fear or concern) by Z (time to accomplish)?

Act in faith, don't W.O.R.R.Y. W = Waste O = Outstanding R = Resources R = Ruining Y = Your life

She did not see why anyone should worry about her soul, even the people she marched with. “When it gives me trouble,” she’d sneer, “I’ll call y’all.

[M]y first published book had just appeared in stores. The last year of my life--the year of finishing it, editing it, and seeing it through its various page-proof passes--ranks among the most unnerving of my young life. It has not felt good, or freeing. It has felt nerve-shreddingly disquieting. Publication simply allows one that much more to worry about. This cannot be said to aspiring writers often or sternly enough. Whatever they carry within themselves they believe publication cures will not, I can all but guarantee, be cured. You just wind up with new diseases.

Men always think they’re hot. It’s like an inheritable trait attached to the Y-chromosome.” She switched to lecture mode, which was a definite weakness of his. “Even fat, ugly guys think they’re hot, whereas amazingly gorgeous women worry about not being perfect or having stomachs that aren’t taut as drums.” He shrugged. “So I’m fat, ugly, and hot.” “And my stomach is taut as a drum.” He

No sabes cuánto has estado corriendo, lo mucho que has estado trabajando y lo agotada que estás, hasta que alguien se para detrás de ti y te dice: «Tranquila, ahora puedes caerte. Yo te sostengo». Así que me caí. Y Harry me sostuvo. You don't realize for how long you've been running, how hard you've been working and how broken you really are, until someone stands behind you and says: "Don't worry, you can rest. I've got you." And so I fell. And Harry caught me.

Evie…” His whisper stirred the tiny wisps at her hairline. “I want to make love to you.” Her blood turned to boiling honey. Eventually she managed a stammering reply. “I-I thought y-you never called it that.” His hands lifted to her face, his fingertips exploring delicately. She remained docile beneath his caress while the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, drugged her like some narcotic incense. Reaching to his own throat, Sebastian fumbled beneath his shirt and extracted the wedding band on the fine chain. He tugged it, breaking the fragile links, and let the chain drop to the floor. Evie’s breathing hastened as he reached for her left hand and slid the gold band onto her fourth finger. Their hands matched together, palm to palm, wrist to wrist, just as they had been bound during their wedding ceremony. His forehead lowered to hers, and he whispered, “I want to fill every part of you…breathe the air from your lungs…leave my handprints on your soul. I want to give you more pleasure than you can bear. I want to make love to you, Evie, as I have never done with anyone before.” She was now trembling so violently that she could hardly stand. “Your w-wound—we have to be careful—” “You let me worry about that.” His mouth took hers in a soft, smoldering kiss. Releasing her hand, he gathered her body closer, applying explicit pressure against her shoulders, back, hips, until she was molded completely against him. Evie wanted him with a desperation that almost frightened her. She tried to catch his gently shifting mouth with her own, and pulled at his clothes with a fumbling urgency that made him laugh softly. “Slowly,” he murmured. “The night is just beginning…and I’m going to love you for a long time.

For life is at the start a chaos in which one is lost. The individual suspects this, but he is frightened at finding himself face to face with this terrible reality, and tries to cover it over with a curtain of fantasy, where everything is clear. It does not worry him that his "ideas" are not true, he uses them as trenches for the defense of his existence, as scarecrows to frighten away reality. The clear-headed man is the man who frees himself from those fantastic "ideas" and looks life in the face, realizes that everything in it is problematic, and feels himself lost. As this is the simple truth —that to live is to feel oneself lost— he who accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground.

Mary.” Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. “Lassiter?” “I’m over here.” “Where?” She looked all around. “Why is your voice echoing?” “Chimney.” “What?” “I’m stuck in the fucking chimney.” She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. “Lass? What the hell are you doing up there?” His voice emanated from somewhere above her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” “What are you—” An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. “You’re stuck!” she exclaimed. “And thank God no one lit this fire!” “You’re telling me,” he muttered in his disembodied voice. “I had to blow out Fritz’s match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I’m not doing this again, even for her.” Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. “Lassiter. Why can’t you free yourself by dematerializing—” “I’m impaled on a hook that’s iron. I can’t go ghost. And will you just take this?” “What?” “This.” He turned his hand toward her and there was…a box…in it? A small navy blue box. “Open it. And before you ask, I already cleared it with your pinheaded hellren. He’s not jel or anything.” Mary sat back and shook her head. “I’m more worried about you—” “Justopenthefuckingthingalready.” Taking off the top, she found a slightly smaller box inside. That was velvet. “What is this?” As she lifted the lid, she…gasped. It was a pair of diamond earrings. A pair of perfectly matched, sparkly, diamond… “A mother’s tears,” Lassiter’s slightly echo-y voice said softly. “So hard, so beautiful. I told you everything was going to be all right. And those are to remind you of how strong you are, how strong your love for your daughter is…how, even in the worst of times, things have a way of working out as they should.” Blinking away tears, she thought of her crying in the foyer in front of the angel, crying because all had been lost. “They’re just beautiful,” she said hoarsely. -Lassiter & Mary

I guess we’ll just have to cross this on foot and go over there to find whatever Captain Goodwin thinks he sees.” “I can get the Humvee through that,” I said. Jerry looked over and down and said, “No, there’s no way.” “Y’all go ahead and walk, I’ll worry about the Humvee,” I said. So they all got out of the vehicle and began to cross through the canal on foot. I assessed the situation and then backed up the vehicle. I threw it into drive and gunned the gas. The engine was so loud that the sound bounced off the trees. RAAARRR. I drove that truck right down the first side of the canal and came barreling up the other side. The nine-thousand-pound vehicle flew out of that canal. Once I roared through the canal, the Humvee behind me followed suit. We pulled up next to Jerry and five other members of our squad like a taxi service. Jerry was so stunned he didn’t even yell at me for acting like a fool. What was be going to say? “Don’t do that again”?

In fact, I didn’t know how much Chris had done in Fallujah until he came home. We were at a car wash place one day when someone overheard his name called and went up to him. “Are you Chris Kyle?” asked the man. His haircut and build made it clear he was military. “Yes.” “I was in Fallujah,” said the young man, who turned out to be a Marine. “You saved my life.” “Y’all saved my ass plenty of times, too,” said Chris, referring to Marines. Others came over, including the father of one of the Marines. He had tears in his eyes when he shook Chris’s hand. “Your husband saved my son’s life,” he said to me. “Thank you.” What an incredibly small world it is, I thought. For all of these people to have been together so far away, and now just meet by chance in the oddest place. Or was it part of a cosmic plan? A way of showing Chris that he was appreciated? I felt proud of him, but I also felt sadness--I imagined being the parent of one of these young men, worried about their welfare and yet unable to do anything to protect them. It was an impotence with few parallels. Chris just took it all in stride, smiling and waving as he left to get the car.

You’re worried about Anna?” “Anna and the baby, who, I can assure you, are not worried about me.” “Westhaven, are you pouting?” Westhaven glanced over to see his brother smiling, but it was a commiserating sort of smile. “Yes. Care to join me?” The commiserating smile became the signature St. Just Black Irish piratical grin. “Only until Valentine joins us. He’s so eager to get under way, we’ll let him break the trail when we depart in the morning.” “Where is he? I thought you were just going out to the stables to check on your babies.” “They’re horses, Westhaven. I do know the difference.” “You know it much differently than you knew it a year ago. Anna reports you sing your daughter to sleep more nights than not.” Two very large booted feet thunked onto the coffee table. “Do I take it your wife has been corresponding with my wife?” “And your daughter with my wife, and on and on.” Westhaven did not glance at his brother but, rather, kept his gaze trained on St. Just’s feet. Devlin could exude great good cheer among his familiars, but he was at heart a very private man. “The Royal Mail would go bankrupt if women were forbidden to correspond with each other.” St. Just’s tone was grumpy. “Does your wife let you read her mail in order that my personal marital business may now be known to all and sundry?” “I am not all and sundry,” Westhaven said. “I am your brother, and no, I do not read Anna’s mail. It will astound you to know this, but on occasion, say on days ending in y, I am known to talk with my very own wife. Not at all fashionable, but one must occasionally buck trends. I daresay you and Emmie indulge in the same eccentricity.” St. Just was silent for a moment while the fire hissed and popped in the hearth. “So I like to sing to my daughters. Emmie bears so much of the burden, it’s little enough I can do to look after my own children.” “You love them all more than you ever thought possible, and you’re scared witless,” Westhaven said, feeling a pang of gratitude to be able to offer the simple comfort of a shared truth. “I believe we’re just getting started on that part. With every child, we’ll fret more for our ladies, more for the children, for the ones we have, the one to come.” “You’re such a wonderful help to a man, Westhaven. Perhaps I’ll lock you in that nice cozy privy next time nature calls.” Which

Bob came back just in time to see us getting ready to leave. “O-oh, h-hey, I’m back from the restroom. D-did you find a volunteer already? Oh, okay, darn, I-I’m too late...Good luck out there…” said Bob nervously. “Oh, Bob…” I replied. Cindy and I exited the mayor’s house and headed towards the nearby trench. From there we dug tunnels towards the giant cube. “Hey, Cindy!” I yelled through the dirt wall tunnel. “Yeah?” she answered. “If you need anything just yell, ‘kay? I’m only a few feet away.” She laughed. “Oh, you’re worried about me, Steve?” “Of course! I care about you.” “Y-you do…?” I blushed. “A-ahem…I meant I care about your well-being.” “A-ah…right,” she said shyly. We proceeded to dig and placed the items until nearly sunrise with no incident. Then suddenly I heard a sharp scream coming through the dirt. AHHHHH!!!! I smashed through the dirt wall to find Cindy cornered by a brain-hungry zombie. “No worries, Cindy! I got you.” I pulled out my stone sword and drove it into the zombie. Raggggghhhhhh! I whacked it a few more times until it dropped some rotten flesh. “Whew! Thanks for saving me, Steve. I’ve never seen a zombie so up close before. They are actually quite stinky.” I laughed. “No problem. I’m here for you, Cindy.” She smiled. “The sun will be up soon, we should probably head back,” I said. She nodded. I stayed in her tunnel and led the way back. On the way back, we encountered a baby zombie. That thing was lightning quick. The tunnel was narrow, so I couldn’t really maneuver anywhere. No circle strafing technique for me. Suddenly, I heard Cindy scream from behind me. I turned around to see another zombie behind her. It must have fallen through the holes we made topside. Oh, no! We’re trapped with nowhere to go! This isn’t good, I thought to myself.

You don’t want this butterblast, do you?” He took a huge bite of a round, golden pastry topped with giant sugar crystals. If it weren’t for her injuries, she would’ve leaped out of bed and wrestled it away from him. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you a bite. But first you need to go one solid hour without your stomach growling. So ignore me”—he took another giant bite of the butterblast—“and focus on Krakie. Or you can focus on Krakie’s new buddies.” He set three Prattles pins on her tray—a jaculus, a kelpie, and a sasquatch. “Meet Bitey, Scaley Butt, and The Stink—your new bandage buddies! We need to figure out the perfect place to put them. I think Scaley Butt should be near Krakie so it looks like they’re swimming together. And then Bitey could be close to The Stink so it looks like he’s trying to chomp him.” “You’re a very strange person, you know that?” she asked as he pinned the new creatures in place. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘awesome.’ I’m an awesome person—who stopped you from thinking about how hungry you are for, like, five minutes.” “And then reminded me,” Sophie noted with a stomach growl. “Oops. Well . . . okay, your new hour starts now!” It was a very long afternoon. But it was worth it when Keefe gave her the last bite of butterblast, which was chewy like a doughnut but tasted like pancakes hot off the griddle and was filled with some sort of thick, maple-y cream. It was quite possibly the most amazing thing she’d ever put in her mouth—and that was saying something, considering she lived in a world with mallowmelt and custard bursts and ripplefluffs and pudding puffs. “If you want another,” Keefe told her, “you’re going to have to let Ro carry you with me into the secret cafeteria.” “Not happening,” Elwin warned. Keefe smirked. “Keep telling yourself that.

How Google Works (Schmidt, Eric) - Your Highlight on Location 3124-3150 | Added on Sunday, April 5, 2015 10:35:40 AM In late 1999, John Doerr gave a presentation at Google that changed the company, because it created a simple tool that let the founders institutionalize their “think big” ethos. John sat on our board, and his firm, Kleiner Perkins, had recently invested in the company. The topic was a form of management by objectives called OKRs (to which we referred in the previous chapter), which John had learned from former Intel CEO Andy Grove.173 There are several characteristics that set OKRs apart from their typical underpromise-and-overdeliver corporate-objective brethren. First, a good OKR marries the big-picture objective with a highly measurable key result. It’s easy to set some amorphous strategic goal (make usability better … improve team morale … get in better shape) as an objective and then, at quarter end, declare victory. But when the strategic goal is measured against a concrete goal (increase usage of features by X percent … raise employee satisfaction scores by Y percent … run a half marathon in under two hours), then things get interesting. For example, one of our platform team’s recent OKRs was to have “new WW systems serving significant traffic for XX large services with latency < YY microseconds @ ZZ% on Jupiter.”174 (Jupiter is a code name, not the location of Google’s newest data center.) There is no ambiguity with this OKR; it is very easy to measure whether or not it is accomplished. Other OKRs will call for rolling out a product across a specific number of countries, or set objectives for usage (e.g., one of the Google+ team’s recent OKRs was about the daily number of messages users would post in hangouts) or performance (e.g., median watch latency on YouTube videos). Second—and here is where thinking big comes in—a good OKR should be a stretch to achieve, and hitting 100 percent on all OKRs should be practically unattainable. If your OKRs are all green, you aren’t setting them high enough. The best OKRs are aggressive, but realistic. Under this strange arithmetic, a score of 70 percent on a well-constructed OKR is often better than 100 percent on a lesser one. Third, most everyone does them. Remember, you need everyone thinking in your venture, regardless of their position. Fourth, they are scored, but this scoring isn’t used for anything and isn’t even tracked. This lets people judge their performance honestly. Fifth, OKRs are not comprehensive; they are reserved for areas that need special focus and objectives that won’t be reached without some extra oomph. Business-as-usual stuff doesn’t need OKRs. As your venture grows, the most important OKRs shift from individuals to teams. In a small company, an individual can achieve incredible things on her own, but as the company grows it becomes harder to accomplish stretch goals without teammates. This doesn’t mean that individuals should stop doing OKRs, but rather that team OKRs become the more important means to maintain focus on the big tasks. And there’s one final benefit of an OKR-driven culture: It helps keep people from chasing competitors. Competitors are everywhere in the Internet Century, and chasing them (as we noted earlier) is the fastest path to mediocrity. If employees are focused on a well-conceived set of OKRs, then this isn’t a problem. They know where they need to go and don’t have time to worry about the competition. ==========

If your kids are the generation Y there are only two things you parents are worried about..What your daughters are uploading on the internet and what your sons are downloading from the internet

hank you." These two magic words are perhaps the most neglected in our vocabulary. When I thank someone for doing something nice for me-sending me a present, cooking dinner for me, or doing me a special favor, they feel appreciated. There's something special about hand-written notes. For one thing, the recipient can read them over and over again, enjoying the friendship represented and the sentiment. The flip side is that saying "thank you" also makes me feel better. It reminds me of the nice thing the other person did for me. y friend, you don't have to travel life alone. I don't know what your personal journey has been or what earthquakes are shaking your foundations. I don't know what worries keep you up at night, what pains sap your strength, or what drags down your spirit. But no matter what road you're traveling, I do know the Lord is beside you every step of the way. Sometimes you'll see Him when you look back at your path and see what He's been doing. When you suffer, He'll wrap you in His arms. When your strength gives out, He'll carry you or give you strength. And when the ground beneath you seems to give way, He will steady your feet and put you on solid ground. God is with you! ake up and smell the roses!" I love a garden, don't you? What a relief to have a place where the trees and plants clean and refresh the air. A garden is also a place where

The feeling she has is most unexpected. The oddest thing. She feels no distress or worry. Instead, she senses a dim, faint feeling that rises from some unknown place in her heart, rising slowly and blossoming into something that she might call relief.

I’ll write the recipe down for you.” “I’ll just screw it up, anyway.” Gram laughed. “All you do is mix the ingredients together, pour it in a bag with the salmon and half an hour later give it to Sean to throw on the grill. He cooked the salmon to perfection tonight.” Of course he did. As he’d told her earlier, she had nothing to worry about because the Y chromosome came with an innate ability to master the barbecue grill. “The salad was good, too,” Sean said. “Thanks,” Emma muttered. “Even I can’t screw up shredding lettuce.” The man looked incredibly relaxed for somebody who'd probably been raked over the coals by his aunt and was now relaxing with two women he barely knew. She, on the other hand, felt as if she was detoxing. Jumpy. Twitching. A trickle of sweat at the small of her back. Sean stood and started gathering dishes, but held out a hand when Emma started to get up. “You ladies sit and visit. I’ll take care of the cleanup.” Once he was inside, Gram smiled and raised her eyebrows. “He does dishes, too? No wonder you snapped him up.” It was tempting to point out a few of his less attractive traits, like the fact that he was a sexist baboon who wouldn’t let her drive. But he was doing a good job of convincing Gram he was Emma’s Prince Charming, which was the whole point, so she bit back her annoyance with the Saint Sean routine. “He’s a keeper.

You needn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” “I can see that. That’s why y’ve got the cap’n sniffin’ after you like a tomcat on the prowl.

Worst Comes To Worst" (feat. Guru) [Babu mixing] "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" "Worst...come.....to worst" "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" "Worst come...to...worst" "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" [Evidence talking] Yeah It's goin down y'all That's Babu Yo, some people got good friends, at night I live my life right Intense, on the edge On the wild, I'm from the group where friction leads to fire Stack your bricks, the time is take your pick Do or don't, the track - Alchemist My life is good, I got my peeps in the mix, so... "Worst come to worst my people come first" [Iriscience] I got worldwide family all over the earth And I worry 'bout 'em all for whatever it's worth From the birth to the hearse, the streets, the guns burst Words I disperse are here to free minds And if mine are needy I need to feed mine "When worst come to worst..." [Evidence] Set up shop and write a verse Actually (what?), that's best come to best My lyrics take care of me, they therapy Get shit off my chest Extra stress, three-four over the score Different patterns of rhymin prepare me for war So next time you see us we'll be deadly on tour [Babu mixing] "Oh, when you need me" "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" [Guru talking] Word up, if worst comes to worst, I make whole crews disperse You know it's family first Gifted Unlimited with Dilated Peoples Babu, Evidence, Iriscience And a shout out to my man Alchemist on the trizzack "Oh, when you need me" "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" [Iriscience] I'm a glutton for the truth, even though truth hurts I've studied with my peoples on streets and in church We make it hard when we go on first Long road, honor of the samurai code These California streets ain't paved with gold Worst comes to worst "Worst come to worst my people come first" [Evidence] Uh, I got them back, at the end of the day We could go our seperate ways but the songs remains, it won't change Got my target locked at range I might switch gears but first I switch lanes Without my people I got nothin to gain That's why... "Worst come to worst my people come first" [Iriscience] Special victims unit, catalyst for movement Creates to devastate, since '84 show improvement Definitely Dilated Peoples comes first Cross-trainin spar, we raise the bar And we put it in your ear no matter who you are [Babu mixing] "Oh, when you need me" "Worst come to worst my peoples come first" "Worst....come...worst my peoples come first" "Worst...worst....worst....come to worst my peoples come first" "...my..my...my peoples come first "Oh, when you need me

My phone dings. Probably my mother, who has mom-radar and always knows when I’m up to no good. Undoubtedly asking how many Hail Marys she needs to say for me today. I grab my phone just to make sure it’s not a somebody died text, and almost fall off my stool. Tarzan here. Looking for Ms. P. This her? I close my eyes, blow out a slow breath. One, if he’s texting me, his date with Lila Valentine probably didn’t produce a second, which makes me happier than I have any right to be. Two, I’m not asking the guy to marry me. I’m asking him to be a hot piece of ass to make me look good. And three, I’m suddenly worried that my bad taste in men is making an unfortunate appearance again. What man in his right mind would text back a woman who made that proposition last weekend? Am I wrong about his date with the auction winner? Did I leave something behind at the hotel, and he’s just returning it? Or does he actually have some secret fetish that’ll play out wrong in the middle of my class reunion? "Who’s that?" Sia demands. "Tele-texter," I lie. I ignore the glares from my friends and type a quick reply. Yes, this is Parker. Except my phone hates me, and it autocorrects to Trying. This is Parking. Thanks, phone. Y E S, I type. Damn autocorrect. I hit send, and "Ohmygod." "What? What?" My friends all peer around me, and I jump off my stool to keep them from seeing my screen. Autocorrect just autocorrected to autocunnilingus. I just told Tarzan I’m eating myself. What have I done? Does that count as sexting? I don’t know. This is why I can’t have nice things.

and raised their eyebrows as if they were doing their best to make sense of everything I said. I picked up my instruction sheet and started to work my way through the house. First, I checked in the laundry room and made sure the cats’ food and water dishes were full. Ling-Ling ran to me as soon as she heard the dry food spilling into her bowl, and right behind her came an orange-y cat. “Crosby!” I said out loud. “How are ya?” He hardly glanced at me; he was headed straight for the food. By the time I had finished filling up the water bowls, all five cats were chomping away. I decided that I’d wait to feed the dogs until after I’d walked them, so my next stop was the hamsters and guinea pigs. Their cages were in the kitchen, and when I walked in, the first thing I heard was a funny whistling noise. “What is that?” I asked Cheryl, who was following along behind me. Of course she didn’t answer. I shrugged. “Oh, well,” I said. I checked the instruction sheet to see how much food to put out, and next to the guinea-pig notes I saw this: “Don’t worry about that whistling noise. It’s normal. Ricky does it more often than Lucy.” Well, that explained that. I put out food for the hamsters and for Lucy

You see, what you'd do is you'd set up an ambush. Now, Bravo Company's probably three miles away from you. And you make contact [with the enemy] and run towards Bravo Company. So what happened is what we got into a fucking ambush and we couldn't get out of the ambush. And the motherfuckers wouldn't move...So from then on we didn't fucking [inaudible.] Y'know, you wouldn't fucking them nothing. "Fuck Bravo Company. I hope all of them motherfuckers die." The social map of this soldier's world has shrunk and now excludes Company B, which it formerly included. In fact, it has shrunk to only the five men of his reconnaissance team: It was constant now. I was watching the other five guys like they were my children. ... It wasn't seventy-two guys [in the company] I was worried about. It was five guys.

First of all, you should learn not to be unhappy about your unhappy feeling, not to be worried about your worries. But try to see clearly why there is a sensation or a feeling of unhappiness, or worry, or sorrow. T r y to examine how it arises, its cause, how it disappears, its cessation. Try to examine it as if you are observing it from outside, without any subjective reaction, as a scientist observes some object. Here, too, you should not look at it as 'my feeling' or 'my sensation' subjectively, but only look at it as 'a feeling' or 'a sensation' objectively. You should forget again the false idea of I. When you see its nature, how it arises and disappears, your mind grows dispassionate towards that sensation, and becomes detached and free. It is the same with regard to all sensations or feelings.

Take stock of those around you and you will... hear them talk in precise terms about themselves and their surroundings, which would seem to point to them having ideas on the matter. But start to analyze those ideas and you will find that they hardly reflect in any way the reality to which they appear to refer, and if you go deeper you will discover that there is not even an attempt to adjust the ideas to this reality. Quite the contrary: through these notions, the individual is trying to cut off any personal vision of reality, of his own very life. For life is at the start a chaos in which one is lost. The individual suspects this, but he is frightened at finding himself face to face with this terrible reality, and tries to cover it over with a curtain of fantasy, where everything is clear. It does not worry him that his "ideas" are not true, he uses them as trenches for the defence of his existence, as scarecrows to frighten away reality. The man with the clear head is the man who frees himself from those fantastic "ideas" and looks life in the face, realizes that everything in it is problematic, and feels himself lost. And this is the simple truth - that to live is to feel oneself lost - he who accepts it has already begun to find himself to be on firm ground. Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look round for something to which to cling, and that tragic, ruthless glance, absolutely sincere, because it is a question of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of his life. These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce. He who does not really feel himself lost is without remission; that is to say, he never finds himself, never comes up against his own reality.

Speechless (From Eyes That Never Saw Skies) You sit in a dark room Imagining all the list of things you would do for revenge. This is how we bring the love back. You wake at night When you think everyone is quiet. You look at yourself through the broken windscreen; Life imitates art. You love yourself when you are speechless, The ceiling fan swirls around in annoyance. There’s nothing as painful as being a stranger in your own dreams. Even the neon lights you see when you shut your eyes Don’t want to see you anymore. You are speechless, Everyone around you is trying to murder someone. But you walk like you’re invisible, Strapped to memories of some foolish old man Who drinks champagne to a dying soul. You look at yourself again and mutter to yourself You cannot be a stranger anymore. Even ghosts have set themselves free from boredom. And when you go back to your room, It’s you and the annoying ceiling fan again. Dear self, Don’t you worry child, We will fight and win another day. Dear luck, Find me too like you find others. Dedicated to Kellie Elizabeth Jones

Heheh. The old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It's ALWAYS funny." The kid gave a confused giggle as Sans tucked his hand back into his pocket. "Anyways, you're a human, right? That's hilarious. I'm Sans. Sans the Skeleton. I'm actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now. But…y'know…" Sans shrugged, "I don't really care about capturing anybody. Now my brother, Papyrus, he's a human-hunting FANATIC." Motion over the kid's head drew Sans's attention briefly and his face lit up. He'd know that silhouette anywhere, even from this distance through the light fog. "Hey, actually, I think that's him over there." He focused back on the kid, catching the tail end of their rotation to see what he was looking at. "I have an idea." The kid looked back at him. "Go through this gate thingy." The kid glanced at the gate, worry marring their expression. Sans nodded. "Yeah, go right through. My bro made the bars too wide to stop anyone." It was a breath, a moment that allowed Sans to watch as the kid's worry turned into determination, before the kid turned right around and walked through the massive structure's posts. Sans kept pace with them, following them through to the other side and then some. Surprisingly enough, the oddly-shaped lamp that had always been next to his station was suddenly conveniently-shaped and very useful, especially with his brother heading their way. "Quick, behind that conveniently-shaped lamp.

She thinks about that now. Is grief the price? Why does love have to be so costly? The benefits she has reaped from this love, have they been enough? When she had just Daisy toddling around, an older woman had said to her, “I think by the time they’re two, kids have repaid their parents for everything. They give us so much joy in just those first two years of their life. All the worrying and misery that might come after is just paying the piper.” Margaret, then a frizzled first-time mom, wondered what the woman was talking about. But now she thinks she knows. She’s had these moments, a nestling child in her arms, a kiss and a deep inhale of the heady sent of a sleeping baby, a laugh of pure joy shared with her husband at something funny that has been said by an unknowing innocent – she has had so, so many of these moments. Her life has been rich with those moments. She is grateful for them. She wants to remember and honor them. This is such a moment, she realizes. Sitting here, on the beach, with the warm sand beneath and the bright sun above, with Clarke and two of her children present, she feels something like a brief moment of contentment. You don’t win anything for being the saddest the longest, Dr. Stein has said. There’s no prize for being the most miserable. You are not betraying anyone by trying to live a better life. You are not giving up on anyone. I’m not telling you to be happy. I’m telling you that it’s okay to have moments when you’re not sad. You can laugh, maybe once a month, maybe twice. It’s okay. Here’s the thing. You think only one specific event, one miracle, will make things better, but actually life will get better if you only let it. You have to let life get better. You have to for your family’s sake, and for your sake. You don’t think your happiness matters, but it does. It matters for your family. They can’t be happy unless you see that you have the ability to be. Time will help. It can be agonizingly slow, but it always does. Forward. Onward. Those are the directions she has to follow. Remember this moment, she thinks fiercely. Hold onto it. - The Expatriates

Paul Graham is the founder of Y Combinator, one of the most successful and sought-after startup accelerators in the tech world. Graham has invested in several blockbuster companies, including AirBNB and Dropbox, both of which are valued in the billions at the time of this writing. After investing in hundreds of companies and considering thousands more, Paul Graham has perfected the art of identifying promising startups. His methods may surprise you. In an interview, Graham highlighted two key strategies: Favoring people over product Favoring determination over intelligence What’s most essential for a successful startup? Graham: The founders. We’ve learned in the six years of doing Y Combinator to look at the founders—not the business ideas—because the earlier you invest, the more you’re investing in the people. When Bill Gates was starting Microsoft, the idea that he had then involved a small-time microcomputer called the Altair. That didn’t seem very promising, so you had to see that this 19-year-old kid was going places. What do you look for? Graham: Determination. When we started, we thought we were looking for smart people, but it turned out that intelligence was not as important as we expected. If you imagine someone with 100 percent determination and 100 percent intelligence, you can discard a lot of intelligence before they stop succeeding. But if you start discarding determination, you very quickly get an ineffectual and perpetual grad student.[74] Your intelligence doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. If you’re reading this book, you’re probably more than capable. Your ideas don’t matter much, either. What matters most—by far, is your perseverance. Stop worrying about your mental aptitude. Stop worrying about the viability of the project you’re considering. Stop worrying about all the other big decisions keeping you up at night. Instead, focus on relentlessly grinding away at your passion until something incredible happens. Your potential output is governed by your mindset, not your mind itself.

Never spend more time worrying about somebody or some situation (that plays no significant role in your life) more than you do about yourself.

A veces la gente no está a la altura de la confianza que depositamos en ellos. Cuando eso ocurre, la reacción correcta no es: "¡Mierda! ¡Si es que no se puede confiar en nadie!" La reacción correcta es: "Hay gente que da pena." Y seguir adelante.

Cuando te miran, tú puedes cerrar os ojos. Chupas energía, robas atención. Cuando te ven, tienes que tener los ojos abiertos, ya que ves y reconoces a tu testigo. Aceptas energía y generas energía. Creas luz. Uno es exhibicionismo, mientras que el otro es conexión. No todo el mundo quiere que lo miren. Todo el mundo quiere que lo vean.

No es lo que uno le dice a la gente, importa más lo que uno hace con ellos. Y no es tan importante lo que uno hace con ellos como la forma en que una está con ellos.

En La Era del Artista Social, la cuestión se plantea a cada paso: ¿qué hay de los artistas introvertidos o asociales que no tienen ningún deseo de abandonar La Buhardilla y entrar en el mercado? ¿Que ocurre con los cantantes que no quieren enviar tuits y los novelistas que no quieren llevar un blog? ¿Qué pasará con los Salingers solitarios del mundo? El mercado es desordenado; es ruidoso y está lleno de enfermedades, carteristas, detractores y críticos. Para casi todos los artistas pasear su propia obra por los puestos de trueque puede ser desagradable. Sin embargo, hay otra posibilidad, que es gritar desde la ventana.

(...) la gente se siente cómoda mientras haya dinero fluyendo en ALGUNA dirección, ya sea del artista al voluntario o del voluntario al artista. A la gente no le resulta extraña una etiqueta con un precio, sea el objeto sobre el que se coloca. Sin embargo, algunos no consiguen entender el intercambio más complicado que se produce entre el pedir y el dar o, dicho de otro modo, el regalo en perpetuo movimiento.

Los que piden sin miedo aprender a decir dos cosas, con o sin palabras, a los que tiene delante: "Tengo derecho a pedir" y "Puedes decir que no". Y es que la petición con condiciones no puede ser un regalo.

Dar sin miedo ya es bastante difícil, pero todavía más difícil recibir sin miedo. Sin embargo, lo más difícil está en ese intercambio. Pedir. Sin vergüenza. Y aceptar la ayuda que nos ofrecen. No forzarlos. Sino dejarles.

Los fans me dieron ese regalo, de forma muy directa. No era un enemigo imaginario que me medía y que juzgaba mi peso, mi piel, mis tetas o mi capacidad para parecer perfecta. No les importaba que aspecto tenía el envase que contenía la música -yo- mientras todos nos hiciéramos felices y nos cuidáramos os entre nosotros.

Todos estamos rotos de una manera u otra y sólo intentamos recomponernos.

vallée˚. suivre : to follow vallonné(e) : hilly le long de : along rivière (f.) : river ombre (f.) : shade, shadow vallée (f.) : valley Louis est ravi : « Je pourrais˚ rouler des heures comme ça ! La campagne est belle. » Mais Melba s’inquiète˚ : comment trouver un hôtel dans cette région perdue ? je pourrais : I could (conditionnel, v. pouvoir) s’inquiéter : to be worried « Il est déjà tard. Et nous n’avons pas de réservation… — Tu n’es pas contente de te promener à la campagne ? Ne t’inquiète pas, Melba. Nous ne sommes pas dans le désert d’Australie. Nous allons trouver un hôtel. C’est l’aventure ! » Mais pour Melba, il y a un problème : si le premier hôtel est complet, il faut en˚ chercher un deuxième. Si le deuxième est complet aussi, il faut en chercher un troisième, et un quatrième… Ils risquent la panne˚ d’essence.

Las preocupaciones tienen eso, te acompañan aunque no las hayas invitado, son como un peso añadido que vaga por tu cabeza y despierta para golpearte.

Your grandfather lived at a time when it was difficult to believe in God and stay alive at the same time. He sought to protect me from the fickleness of Rome. He still worried about their hatred of Christians despite the Edict of Milan.

Here now, what’s this?” he said. “Ye’ll not come to any harm. Ye may despise me, Lady Nerissa, but I’d give me life before I let anythin’ happen to ye.” She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she walked to the rail and leaned against it, looking out over the sea toward the frigate that was surely coming for her. Quietly, she said, “It’s not my own safety that concerns me.” He joined her, standing close enough that they could converse without their words being overheard. Softly, he asked, “Whose, then?” She just looked pointedly at him, then looked away again, her mouth a tight line. “Ah,” he said, and because her hand was only inches from his own, he reached out and covered it with his own. She did not pull away. Instead, her fingers—slender, soft and colored like the inside of a seashell—wound gently around his. She kept them that way for a long moment, gripping his hand with surprising strength and leaving him to wonder if hers would be the last female touch he ever encountered. One never knew, really, going into battle. “I don’t despise you,” she said. “Despite the fact you abducted me, starved me with the worst food I’ve ever been exposed to, and provided me with no change of clothing, you have been nothing but a gentleman toward me and I would hate to see anything happen to you.” He cocked his head and looked down at her. “What’s this? Have ye come to care about me, lass?” “Certainly not.” She let go of his hand as though his skin had burned her. The moment lay between them, still pulsing with life and bare, raw honesty. His gaze was drawn once more to her hand. A hand whose fingers had just entwined with his in fondness, in friendship, or maybe just in worry. He thought of where he’d like that hand to be. “Ah. Just wonderin’, then.” “Stop wondering, then. I don’t care about you. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” “I could get blown to bits today, y’know. Won’t be anythin’ left of me for yer brothers to kill. Just think of it, Lady Nerissa! I could die this mornin’, perhaps in your arms… and ye’ll always lament the fact you didn’t tell me you cared about me.” “Would you stop it?” “’ Twould be a lot to lay on yer conscience, now, wouldn’t it?” “Stop!

I Am a Tinder Guy Holding a Fish and I Will Provide for You Photo No. 1 Behold my mackerel. I have caught it for you and it is for you to eat. Love me, for I shall fill your dinner table with many fish such as this one in the days to come. During our time together, you will never go hungry or fear famine. You will never want for trout, salmon, or otherwise. I will sustain you with my love and with my fish. Photo No. 2 As you may have suspected, my talents do not end at fishing. I excel in many areas. Working out, for instance. In this picture I display for you my abdomen. Abdomens are important for fishing excursions and mirror selfies, such as this one. I flex for you. What do you think? Photo No. 3 To get a better idea of me, here is a closeup selfie of my face with a high-contrast filter. In it, I make an expression like that young boy star Justin Bieber, but, rest assured, I am a man. I crease my forehead and raise my eyebrows, like a man. In my gaze, you can see the soul of a man. My mouth is as straight as the line I will walk for you. Peer into the depths of my heart, a small ocean of the meatiest haddock. Photo No. 4 Feast your eyes upon my Mitsubishi. In it, we will traverse the continent running your errands. Tell me about an appointment and I will offer you a ride faster than anyone has ever offered before. This and many other adventures await us. Name an ocean and I will drive to it and fish for you there. The farthest reaches of the shoreline are within our grasp. Photo No. 5 Worry not about the woman with the face scribbled out in this picture of me in formal wear. She is no one. Cast your eyes upon me as I might cast a fishing line into a bountiful river. Look unto my face, for it is chiseled. This is the face of a man who would never scribble out your face and upload the picture onto a dating app. This is the face of a man with an abdomen rock-hard and fishing rods numerous. Photo No. 6 Now I am spreading my arms wide in front of a landscape. Behold my mountain, my sky, my clouds, my wingspan. These are the arms with which I will hold you during long, dark nights. I will claim you as I have claimed this landscape, as I have claimed myriad salmon. I will fight for you as I have fought for the right to so many weight machines already in use by someone else at the Y.M.C.A. My arms ache for you, and I have nothing left but to stretch them out and fly home to your heart. For mine are the wings of an albatross that shall descend upon the water’s surface, pluck out the ripest flounder, and place it at your feet as a small offering of my love, if you swipe right.

Monday, November 29 Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. —Psalm 119:105 (ESV) Here you go!” my twenty-two-year-old son, John, said cheerfully, handing me a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Since he began working he has also begun paying me rent. He prefers to pay in cash, I think because it is concrete evidence he is contributing to the family. We both enjoy the monthly ritual. This has been a long, long time coming. There were the years in which John’s anxiety triggered rages, then the years when he was depressed and didn’t leave the house except to walk the dog or go to therapy. There were long stretches of time when there seemed to be no path forward. Through those I learned that my inability to see how life could improve meant only one thing: that I couldn’t see the way through. Oddly, in retrospect, I can’t see the path we took, either. I think that’s because John’s progress was so incremental, each step forward so infinitely small as to be almost unnoticeable. It may also have something to do with the fact that the “lamp to my feet” that lit my path was much like the handheld oil lamps of biblical times, casting only enough light to illuminate my next stumbling step. Yet now my son is gainfully employed, a taxpaying citizen. He does not earn a lot, but he works hard and his boss likes him. Someday, I think, he will probably be able to afford his own apartment. I’m not worried about when that happens. There are those who might argue John “should” be doing X or Y or Z. For me, those “shoulds” don’t matter: I’ve learned we can’t move forward from where we wish we were. We can only move forward from where we are now. Lord, let Your word illuminate my next step. And then the one after. And the one after that. —Julia Attaway Digging Deeper: Psalm 44:18

these creatures grow up with a peculiar knowledge. They know that they have been born in an infinite variety. They know, for instance, that in their genetic material they are born with hundreds of different chromosome formations at the point in each cell that we would say determines their "sex". These creatures don't just come in XX or XY; they also come in XXY and XYY and XXX plus a long list of "mosaic" variations in which some cells in a creature's body have one combination and other cells have another. Some of these creatures are born with chromosomes that aren't even quite X or Y because a little bit of one chromosome goes and gets joined to another. There are hundreds of different combinations, and though all are not fertile, quite a number of them are. The creatures in this world enjoy their individuality; they delight in the fact that they are not divisible into distinct categories. So when another newborn arrives with an esoterically rare chromosomal formation, there is a little celebration: "Aha," they say, "another sign that we are each unique." These creatures also live with the knowledge that they are born with a vast range of genital formations. Between their legs are tissue structures that vary along a continuum, from clitorises with a vulva through all possible combinations and gradations to penises with scrotal sac. These creatures live with an understanding that their genitals all developed prenatally from exactly the same little nub of embryonic tissue called a genital tubercle, which grew and developed under the influence of varying amounts of the hormone androgen. These creatures honor and respect everyone's natural-born genitalia –including what we would describe as a microphallus or a clitoris several inches long. What these creatures find amazing and precious is that because everyone's genitals stem from th same embryonic tissue, the nerves inside all their genitals got wired very much alike, so these nerves of touch just go crazy upon contact in a way that resonates completely between them. "My gosh," they think, "you must feel something in your genital tubercle that intensely resembles what I'm feeling in my genital tubercle." Well, they don't think that in so many words; they're actually quite heavy into their feelings at that point; but they do feel very connected –throughout all their wondrous variety. I could go on. I could tell you about the variety of hormones that course through their bodies in countless different patterns and proportions, both before birth and throughout their lives –the hormones that we call "sex hormones" but that they call "individuality inducers." I could tell you how these creatures think about reproduction: For part of their lives, some of these creatures are quite capable of gestation, delivery, and lactation; and for part of their lives, some of them are quite capable of insemination; and for part or all of their lives, some of them are not capable of any of those things – so these creatures conclude that it would be silly to lock anyone into a lifelong category based on a capability variable that may or may not be utilized and that in any case changes over each lifetime in a fairly uncertain and idiosyncratic way. These creatures are not oblivious to reproduction; but nor do they spend their lives constructing a self-definition around their variable reproductive capacities. They don't have to, because what is truly unique about those creatures is that they are capable of having a sense of personal identity without struggling to fit into a group identity based on how they were born. These creatures are quite happy, actually. They don't worry about sorting /other/ creatures into categories, so they don't have to worry about whether they are measuring up to some category they themselves are supposed to belong to.

BE “FINE” How are you? Well, you’re fine, of course! You’ve never been better. I mean, sure, those medical bills are adding up to more than your house is worth, and yeah, you’re not on “speaking terms” with your siblings, and no, you don’t exactly have a job, but overall? When you think of it? Ya can’t complain. Turn the conversation back onto the asker as soon as humanly possible. You’ll immediately find out that they’re just as fine as you are. Wild, right? 3. DI(ALL)Y Help? Who needs help? Not you. You can handle it. Totally. Whatever it is. Three hours in line at the Social Security office, only to find out that your form wasn’t notarized on the third day of the month with Saturn in your fifth house? Not a problem. Two kids with the stomach flu and a job that doesn’t give you paid sick time? You got this. A burning pit of despair growing stronger every day like the Eye of Sauron? All over it. Those cracks you’re starting to feel in that Totally Fine Construct you worked so hard on? That’s the breakdown coming. The cortisol is pumping, your blood pressure is banging, and your body, which doesn’t know the difference between emotional stress and being chased by a sabre-toothed tiger, is freaking the fudge out. Delicious, isn’t it? Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from!

Trying to find my feet. There have been times I have tried to find my feet in a quicksand When I was drowning Strangling myself in order to breathe I could have died many times now But I love life more than death I love you more than I love me So here I am In a dark room With my tears dancing around my cheeks. I have been unashamed, I have locked doors just to be alone. I have shut my ears tight so I could not hear the air breathing I have doubted myself Thrown myself to worry. I have been in too many dark places That I’m struggling to remember a time I was in the light. Yet after everything, Here I am With me and my words Listening to Lust For Life Looking for anything that is light In all the wrong places. But I love you I don’t love me That’s all I need to survive.

On the plus side, you have the perception of a burnt piece of toast, so you shouldn’t have too much to worry about! I would watch out for rotten food and poison if I were you, though. Also, steer clear of those Rogue classes, because a Mage-based class with a perception of five will be a bigger mark than Big Mark—a robust Innkeeper who happens to be named Mark, and guess what? Big Mark has way~y~y higher perception than you.

Don't worry how slow you are and how fast he is, finally both will be late X and late Y

un libro del doctor Edward Podolsky titulado Stop Worrying and Get Well (Deje de preocuparse y póngase bien). He aquí los títulos de algunos de los capítulos de este libro: Cómo afectan las preocupaciones al corazón.  La alta presión sanguínea está alimentada por la preocupación. El reumatismo puede tener por causa la preocupación.  Preocúpese menos, por el bien de su estómago.  Cómo la preocupación puede causar un resfrío.  La preocupación y el tiroides. La preocupación y la diabetes.

Oh, you don’t say,” Dylan interrupted sarcastically. “I thought that was clear from the way the bitch nearly turned into a linebacker when we tried to get her in the car to get here. Y’all worried about her when I think she may have fucked around and dislocated my damn shoulder!

Evangeline,” Lisa said. “I like you better like this.” “You would,” Daphne scoffed. “Where is Uncle Jack tonight?” “He's got a date,” Evangeline said. “He asked me to watch Ruby till y'all came home. I was about to start supper, but I’m going to have to rethink what we are going to eat. I've only got six pork chops.” “Don't worry, Evangeline. There's plenty to eat. We just need to adjust a little,” Jen said. She walked down a short hallway that led to the laundry room and disappeared into a closet that had been turned into a pantry. She emerged a moment later carrying an arm full of ingredients. She put two bags of noodles on the counter, along with four cans of tuna and two cans of cream of mushroom soup. Then went back to get a box of breadcrumbs. “Tuna noodle casserole?” Charlie asked. “Yep,” Jen said. “Quick, easy, and a crowd pleaser.” “Yeah, my thighs are going to be real pleased,” Lisa quipped. “Oh hush,” Jen said. “You can run it off tomorrow.” “I love tuna noodle casserole,” Daphne smiled. “Honestly though, I can't remember the last time I had it.” “That's because you eat too much take out, sweetie,” Evangeline said. “So, anything I can do to help?” “Could you check the fridge for sour cream and Parmesan cheese, please? And there should be a bag of frozen peas in the freezer,” Jen said, inclining her head in that direction. Charlie handed one of the three journals from Edwina’s box to Lisa and the other one to Daphne. “Come on, let's start looking through these while they’re making dinner.” Charlie sat at the end of the table with Lisa and Daphne flanking her, and they each began to flip through the pages of Edwina’s most private thoughts. Ruby walked into the kitchen and placed herself between Charlie and Lisa. Ruby glanced up at the clock. “Aunt Lisa, will you come upstairs and read me a story?” Jen ripped open the packages of noodles and poured them into a pot of hot water. “Ruby Ellen, you've already had a story. Why are you out of bed?” “I can't sleep, Mama,” Ruby said. Lisa

The indirect harvesting of valued-per-click leisure time by corporations has led many technocapitalists to support projects like the Universal Basic Income (UBI), which would free up users’ time which could then potential y be spent generating valuable data and content on their own platforms. The driving force of this trend is the Pay Per Click (PPC) advertising campaigns that have grown simultaneously with corporations like Google over the last 15 years, but now the value of the click is not based only on the likelihood of purchasing success, as older models of Google AdWords and other targeted ad campaigns functioned. Instead, the click is conceptualised as a data-point that connects two or more actors in the network. It is those moments of connection between subjects and objects that have potential value to data-driven companies from corporate advertisers to election meddlers like Cambridge Analytica and policy influencers like Palantir. This only works because the user can be libidinally motivated to conduct the ‘free labour’ constituted by the click. The situation was prophetically predicted by one of the most historically influential Marxists still alive, Mario Tronti. His 1966 book Workers and Capital gave rise to the concept of ‘neocapitalism’, which anticipates the environment in which the digital worker operates today. For Tronti: At the highest level of capitalist development, the social relation is transformed into a moment of the relation of production. In this environment, the data-point connecting two people, generated at the moment of every click between social media pages, connects the social relation itself to a relation of production in real time. Seeing this in his own future, Tronti worried that society itself would run by the logic of the factory. Each interaction between individuals would incorporate a surplus value turned to profit by the class owning the means. dream lovers of social production. If the factory workers could be made to relate to each other in a way that was productive for the factory owners, so too could the entirety of social life be modified and edited for the profit of the capitalists. The whole of society is turned into an articulation of production, that is, the whole of society lives as a function of the factory and the factory extends its exclusive domination to the whole of society.

El miedo causa preocupación. La preocupación pone a uno tenso y nervioso, afecta a los nervios del estomago, cambia los jugos gástricos de normales a anormales y frecuentemente provoca ulceras estomacales. Las ulceras del estomago no vienen de lo que se que come. Vienen de lo que está comiendo a uno.

And y'know what they decided the number one threat was? The destructive and disruptive capability of a small group. That's what they're worried about most...they're terrified of a small group with a committed goal.

P R E S I D E N T Y O S H I D A’S T E N S P A R T A N R UlE S Hideo Yoshida’s quest for management excellence was no doubt driven by his visions for Japanese marketing and media, but also by an overall worry about Japan’s economic prospects after World War II. As a result, he developed a set of business and work principles, or rules, which he called the “Ten Spartan Rules”: difficult work.5. Once you begin a task, complete it. Never give up.6. Lead and set an example for your fellow workers.7. Set goals for yourself to ensure a constant sense of purpose.8. Move with confidence. It gives your work force and substance.9. At all times, challenge yourself to think creatively and find new solutions.10. When confrontation is necessary, don’t shy away from it. Confrontation is often necessary to achieve progress. These traditional work rules still guide Dentsu’s employees, and are carried around in their notebooks

Life is a sequence of breaths. You can’t live worrying about what will happen next between us.

He found her in the bathroom, wearing one of his huge T-shirts, and he caught her softly crying. It had been a very long time since he’d seen her tears, and it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t bear it. “Here, here,” he said, pulling her into his strong embrace. “You’re crying.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks and looked up at him. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I got my period again. I didn’t want it to come. I wanted to be pregnant.” “You weren’t even late,” he said, for he knew everything about her, about her body. You could set a watch by her. “Not even an hour late,” she said, and a big tear spilled over. “Is it a hard one?” he asked tenderly. “No, it’s nothing at all. Except, I thought maybe finally…” “Okay, it’s time,” he said, wiping away the tear. “You should talk to Mel. Maybe to John Stone. See if we should check something out.” “I get the impression that could be expensive.” “Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “Never mind money—this is about us being happy. We want a baby. We should do what we have to do. Right?” “John, I’m sorry—” “Why are you sorry? You’re not in this alone. Everything is both of us. Right?” “Month after month…” “Well, now we’re going to face it and ask for advice. We’ll get some help. No more crying.” But she dropped her head against his chest and wept anyway, and it tore his heart out. He couldn’t stand Paige to be in any kind of pain. He lived for her happiness; she was his world. His life. “Are you crying because you’re PMS-y?” he asked. “No. I don’t think so.” “Cramps? Want me to rub your back?” “No,” she said. “I feel fine. Really.” He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. Lovingly. Lustfully. “Want me to make you feel a little better? I know how.” “That’s okay, John. There’s no need.” “You don’t have to be shy with me. There’s no part of your life, your body, that puts me off. I love every bit of you.” She sighed deeply. “I should just take a shower and crawl into bed. I’m feeling sorry for myself.” He

I chanced a glance at Ida to see how she was handling it. I couldn’t tell if she was appalled or shocked into silence until her face lit up and she said, “Hey, y’all, watch this!” I closed my eyes, afraid of what was coming because in all my years, I’d never seen anything good follow those words. At least I didn’t have to worry about her accidentally killing herself, but then it occurred to me she probably wasn’t the one I should be worried about.

Wordlessly, he took a long step closer. She drew in a sharp breath of anticipation. It was so hard to resist him when he looked at her that way. Those bright eyes and half-grin melted her insides. She found herself actually swaying. "Y-you must be tired," she stammered, as she gripped the curtain even tighter. The brocade dug its pattern into her palm, but she worried it was the only thing keeping her upright at the moment. The only thing grounding her. "I'm hungry," he whispered in that gravelly voice that touched her very core. She grasped at the lifeline his words offered. "Yes, well I could ring and see where the food is. Or we could go down and explore our new dining room." She flinched at the desperation in her voice. He cut her off with a wicked grin. "I wasn't talking about food. I'm hungry for you." Her knees buckled, but she managed to stay upright with a stunning show of self-control. A voice in her head screamed at her to resist, but her body didn't seem capable of listening. Everything tingled like he had already touched her, and her lips throbbed for his kiss. "I- I will perform my 'wifely duty' if I must," she said shakily, hoping her use of the term would put him off. His eyes lit up, but he chuckled rather than turn away. She cursed herself. Obviously he could see how much she wanted him, despite her protestations. She turned to face the window so he could no longer read the need in her eyes. "Was last night so terrible, then?" he asked. Suddenly, he was at her back, his breath caressing her neck before his lips descended to claim the skin left uncovered by her gown. She stiffened as hot sensation rushed through her, enveloping her in a web of desire. "I-it was fine." She fought to breathe as he unfastened one button at the back of her gown and flicked his tongue across the flesh he revealed. "If you like that sort of thing." He responded with a low laugh that reverberated across her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as she barely held back her answering moan.

Daily Living Practice Your practice this week is to deepen your awareness of what happens in your mind and your body when you are anxious, and to work on quieting your patterns of worry. As you go through each day this week, remind yourself to: Notice your worry patterns and begin to change them by challenging the fear with facts. Practice Powering Down to Transform Anxiety to experience the state of having a quiet mind and a quiet body. Comfort yourself, and challenge yourself to be victorious as you face small and large stresses throughout the week. Read the inspirational quote you have written on the index card. Daily Practice Log Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Time of Day B A B A B A B A B A B A B A Yoga/Meditation I Used Y-CBT Techniques I Used B = Before, A = After 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Low Anxiety Moderate Anxiety High Anxiety

You’re still kind of pale though,” she worried, gazing at his face, running her finger along one of his cheekbones. “And your face is still pretty thin.” Gage glanced sideways, trying to avoid the attention. “I’m fine. My leg looks worse than it feels.” “No, it doesn’t,” Etienne teased him. “You’re just being brave.” “No, I’m not. It really doesn’t feel that bad.” “Well, at least you can feel something now,” Parker remarked offhandedly. “The night you got hurt, you couldn’t feel much of anything.” “I couldn’t?” “You mean, the girls didn’t tell you?” Feigning concern, Parker shook his head. “Well, they had to…you know…test a lot of places on you. Just to see if you could still feel.” The flush had already started up Gage’s cheeks. “That’s true,” Roo agreed. “Of course…some places were a lot more fun to test than others.” “A whole lot more fun to test than others,” Ashley insisted. Gage’s embarrassment reached full blush. Hiding a smile, Ashley pressed her palm to his forehead. “But you’re sure you feel fine now? Because you look a little hot.” “He is hot,” Roo answered. “Oh. Oh, you mean his temperature.” “Stop,” poor Gage mumbled. “I’m fine.” Etienne motioned to Ashley, his expression perfectly serious. “Come on. Y’all know how Gage is--he’s suffering in silence ’cause he doesn’t want to look weak in front of you women.” “Cut it out,” Gage said. “No, really. We all know you’re just being modest.” “Shut up.” Roo fixed Gage with an owlish stare. “You cried when you broke your leg.” “I did not.” “Yes, you did. You cried. You’re a crybaby.” The best Parker could offer was a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry, little soldier. You cried.” Gage looked longingly at the truck. Taking pity on him at last, the others stopped teasing and turned their attention back to their project.

SEVEN YEARS AGO… “You notice anything different about Ash?” my cousin Sawyer asked as he climbed up the tree to sit beside me on our favorite limb overlooking the lake. I shrugged, not sure how to answer his question. Sure, I’d noticed things about Ash lately. Like the way her eyes kind of sparkled when she laughed and how pretty her legs looked in shorts. But there was no way I was confessing those things to Sawyer. He’d tell Ash, and they’d both laugh their butts off. “No,” I replied, not looking at Sawyer for fear he’d be able to tell I was lying. “I heard Mom talking to Dad the other day, saying how you and me would start noticing Ash differently real soon. She said Ash was turning into a beauty, and things between the three of us would change. I don’t want things to change,” Sawyer said with a touch of concern in his voice. I couldn’t look at him. Instead I kept my eyes fixed on the lake. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Ash is Ash. Sure, she’s always been pretty, I guess, but that’s not what’s important. She can climb a tree faster than either of us, she baits her own hook, and she can fill up water balloons like a pro. The three of us have been best friends since preschool. That won’t change.” I chanced a glance at Sawyer. My speech sounded pretty convincing, even to me. Sawyer smiled and nodded. “You’re right. Who cares that she’s got hair like some kind of fairy princess? She’s Ash. Speaking of water balloons, could you two please stop sneaking out and throwing them at cars right outside my house at night? My parents are gonna catch y’all one of these days, and I won’t be able to get y’all outta trouble.” I grinned, thinking about Ash covering her mouth to silence her giggles last night when we’d snuck down there to fill up the balloons. That girl sure loved to break rules--almost as much as I did. “I heard my name.” Ash’s voice startled me. “You two better not still be making fun of me about this stupid bra Mama’s making me wear. I’ve had it with the jokes. I’ll break both your noses if it doesn’t stop.” She was standing at the bottom of the tree with a bucket of crickets in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. “Are we gonna fish or had y’all rather just stare down at me like I’ve grown another head?

what you’re so worried

She nodded over my shoulder. “What’s with American Psycho?” I shrugged. “Heaven knows. Got out of the wrong side of the Atlantic this morning. Anyway, forget him… I’m more worried about the cat.

this life is just a prologue or the opening credits to the Final Chapter. Why focus on what you real y can’t control? You have the choice to accept the ultimate free gift from God which is eternal life through His one and only Son, Jesus Christ. So everyday is just a page in your life, take one day; one page of life at a time. Matthew 6:34 (NLT) “So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” We can buy creams and lotions, work out every day and eat right, there is real y NOTHING we can do to slow this chapter of our lives. We can definitely make it healthier and I believe more enjoyable, but we only real y have 100 years or less. Why not focus our efforts on loving God and fol owing His commandments for a better and healthier society. I urge you to focus on the eternal chapter of your life. Do all you can to help you and others live out the final chapter of life in eternal bliss. It’s what we were designed to do! Not in an attempt to earn our salvation, but as gratitude for our salvation. So work hard for the Lord, but remember, the best is yet to come: Final Chapter—Eternal Chapter.