Pre-Reading Activities: The pre - reading activities which I would like to incorporate into my future lessons are: - Guessing the story from the chapter headings and predicting what will happen from the pictures.
2022.01.26 20:34 sarahl_blima FOLIFORT - FOLIFORT REVIEW - WATCH THIS BEFORE YOU BUY! - Folifort Table...
2022.01.26 20:34 relampagos_shawty How to tell a know-it-all paralegal to stop giving legal advice (NY)
I’m a law clerk (awaiting bar admission) at a small firm I started working at recently, and there’s a know-it-all self appointed “head paralegal” that the partners need to reel in. They think he’s indispensable because he speaks Spanish and supposedly knows a lot about tech (basic knowledge), and examples of things you’ll hear him say: “Any lawyer will tell you...”, introducing himself as an attorney in Spanish, explaining the law, etc. A mess. Any advice for what I should do or how I should approach this?, because I’m new at this firm but I feel very irresponsible ignoring it.
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2022.01.26 20:34 BigHomieRecords1k #WACKJUMPER BY BIG HOMIE ACE
2022.01.26 20:34 DR_DROWZEE Which pack do I buy to get the elemental hero cards secret pack to come out?
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2022.01.26 20:34 mickeyfrm123 Tay600
2022.01.26 20:34 AmazonianChicana Safety sleeping in vehicle advice + suggestions
I’m leaving/running away from an abusive/toxic home. I can’t take it and be strong anymore. I am moving to another state. Thankfully, I will be able to transfer my job which is great. However, in my rush to escape this hell, I’ve yet to find an apartment within my price range. Instead of waiting, I’m going to just go for it and take the trip there. I’m going to be living in my car while I work and try and find an apartment. Instead of spending money on AirBnbs and hotels, I’d rather save that towards my new place and food, of course. Now, my question is… other than a Walmart parking lot, where do you guys think will be a safe place to hide out and sleep in my car safely? I feel like the 24 hour parking lot idea is good but as a young female sleeping alone…it kind of feels more unsafe? Yes, I’m over 18. Anyways, please help give me realistic suggestions. I don’t need to be judged ok…I just need advice as I go on this new journey. Thank you so much for your help and kindness 🤍
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2022.01.26 20:34 zziani Resting bpm of 55-59
24F, 171cm 71kg. Is this normal? I recently bought a smartwatch and been seeing my bpm. Usually it is in normal range but before I go to sleep and during sleep it goes below 60. I read that anything below 60 is something to be checked out. I do exercise regularly, but not too much. Approximately 3 times a week for 20-40min, sometimes more, mostly endurance. I don't smoke. Should I check it out or is it normal?
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2022.01.26 20:34 mxr_fan69 It's my birthday (28 M)
2022.01.26 20:34 Hetonbekende Abandoned bedroom ~ Take a nap 😄
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2022.01.26 20:34 Erutious The Door
I met my husband when we were in college together. I was working on my bachelor's degree, helping out in the library for some much needed extra cash, when I first laid eyes on him. He was not the usual sort of man I fancied, more bookish than muscly. I found him charming in his own way, and we struck up a friendship. He told me he was a writer, was working on a book of short stories to submit to a publishing house. I offered to read them, and from that moment on, I became his biggest fan.
His stories were so...visceral. He wrote not as a writer but as a first-hand observer, and it wasn't long before his work was noticed. We were living together by then, our library friendship having blossomed into something more, and I could see how giddy he was when the letter came from Bordwin Publishing. When he read how they wanted to publish his book, I think it was the proudest moment of his life.
He kept writing for Bordwin, his stories finding a niche with the horror community. He also started selling his pieces to magazines and online sources, getting his name out there, and becoming more recognizable. As his fame grew, however, he still jokingly called me his biggest fan. I couldn't argue with him; I genuinely loved his work. He wrote the sort of stories than were genuinely terrifying and enticed the reader to keep reading until the very end. As his stories grew in number, I found myself curious about where they all came from. My husband, we'll call him Michael, was a mild-mannered fellow who had never really experienced anything horrific in his life. He described his childhood as benign, with no broken bones or funny uncles. His family was loving and doted on him constantly. He had never been without. He had never really suffered, and I found myself very curious about where all these nightmares came from in such a beautiful mind.
Then, over drinks one night, he told me.
He didn't like to talk about it when sober. He always said that discussing the "creative process" was boring or that his stories' technical aspect would bore me to tears. I wasn't fooled, though. Beneath his jokes was something colder, something fearful. So one night, I pressed him. He still didn't really want to talk about it, but I was persistent. Finally, after a lot of coaxing and some strong whiskey, he all but blurted his answer to me.
I wish now I hadn't asked.
"Its The Door," he said, and at that moment, he seemed almost afraid of his own words.
"The Door?" I asked, confused by the queerness of his answer.
"What do you dream about?" he asked, so suddenly it took me by surprise.
"Oh, I don't know. Normal things, I guess. What I did that day and movies I've watched and weird things my mind cooks up."
"I have only ever had the same dream my entire life. It is always the same; it never changes. It is where I get all my ideas."
I leaned forward, intrigued by what he was telling me.
He seemed emboldened by my attention.
"The Door lies in space, at least I believe it must be space. It floats in a great void, and every night, I visit it. I float through this void naked, an umbilicus connecting me to whatever lies beyond. Every night, I approach the door, and every night it whispers to me through the keyhole. Do you remember the little journal by my bedside?"
"I have trained myself to write the things I hear while asleep. Sometimes I see pictures or faces when I look through the keyhole. Sometimes I hear terrible words spoken by creatures I imagine to be beyond description. Sometimes I have to close my eyes and will myself awake because I am afraid that the things they tell me will drive me insane. When I wake up, I read what I have written down, which becomes my stories."
I was shocked, "So, all your stories come from this big door in space?"
He smiled, "It sounds silly when you say it like that, but...yes. Everything I have ever written was spoken to me by something on the other side of this door."
I didn't think anything of it the next day. We had been drunk, and he had just spouted off something to make me shut up, I was sure. I became more aware of his journal, though. Sometimes at night, he would wake me up with the scritch scratch of his pen on the page. I didn't like to look at him when he was writing in it. It was like something otherworldly had taken his strings and was using him without his permission. Watching him write in that fugue state made me feel uncomfortable, and I took measures to not be awake while this was going on.
I didn't think anything of this, however, until about three months ago.
That was when he started having nightmares.
His work had always been creepy, always been terrifying, but now it took on an alarming quality. He began talking about creatures that lived beyond the door. These creatures sounded more than a little Lovecraftian, and he was assured that their presence on Earth was an afront to the natural order. They came and went, their arrival marked by some with great portents, and their battles had shaped history.
The stories weren't the only things that changed, though.
He began to sleep poorly. His sleep had always been placid, peaceful, but now he thrashed and mumbled in his sleep. He whispered in the night about a Pale Lady and The Green Man and Riotous Red that surged like blood. The words he wrote in his journal were unreadable, a foreign language, but he sat and transcribed them every morning like a dutiful follower of some religion.
He began to change. His eyes bore huge bags, he was jumpy and unsure of himself, and more than once, I caught him catnapping fitfully during the day. His writing, however, had never been more in demand. The magazines he wrote for wanted more stories about these strange old ones. His editor wanted to publish a compilation of them at once. He had no lack of material for the book, but I began to get worried about his health as he proceeded.
We had been married for two years then, just starting to make a life together, and I was afraid that his candle would burn out before mine.
I asked him one night to stop writing the stories. He was at his computer, typing away dutifully when I made the request. He turned his head to look at me, haunted eyes boring into mine, and laughed for the first time in weeks. It wasn't his laugh, though. The laughter was jagged and full of despair, humor shared only by the damned.
He laughed like a mad man.
"I cant. If I stop writing, They won't like it."
"Who?" I asked in confusion.
"The ones beyond the door. They have marked me as their chronicler, and I can't stop until the job is done."
"These things are killing you. Can't, you see that, Michael?"
He slumped over his keyboard, resting his head against it and making a line of letters as he did so.
"Don't you think I would if I could?" he snapped, and it was the first time I had ever heard him speak harshly to me, "If I could stop, I would. It would give me such joy to stop. The things they tell me..." he shuddered, "No one should know the things they tell me. Its fruit from the poisoned tree, and I wish I did not have what they give me."
"Then stop." I said suddenly, "Just stop writing it. Tell them that you refuse to write their story."
Michael looked horrified, "Refuse them? I have never refused a story before. What if...what if it stops the door from working?"
I turned him in his chair and pulled him to me, "The door is in your mind, love. The way it manifests is nothing more than your own mind working through your stories. The monsters are of your own making. You control them, they don't control you."
At that moment, he looked relieved. He hugged me back and seemed on the verge of tears. I don't think he had ever thought of these nightly excursions in anything but a literal sense. He had never imagined that these things could be of his own creation, and the knowledge made him feel free.
"I'll tell them tonight then." he said with a smile, "I'll tell them that I don't want to write about them anymore. I'll tell Fred that I don't want to continue these stories in the morning. He won't like it, but he'll understand."
We went to bed then, and I figured that would be the end of the nightmare.
I was wrong.
He woke me in the night, screaming. The back of his hand hit me in the face, and I rolled awake to the sound of his screams. He was thrashing around, clutching his stomach and kicking his legs frantically. I tried to wake him, I know everything says not to do that, but I wanted him to wake up. I slapped his face, threw water on him, screamed his name, but nothing worked. Someone banged on the door, but I ignored them. I tried in every way I knew to help my husband.
Finally, he helped himself.
We were in the ER, the knocking person had called the paramedics, and they had burst in. They thought someone was being murdered, but they loaded him up and took him straight to the hospital when they saw the scene. He lay in an Er bed, screaming and kicking until they finally restrained him. He went right on thrashing and yelling until nearly four in the morning.
Then he gasped loudly, like a diver coming up from a great depth, and seemed to come awake.
"They cut my umbilicus," he said in tones of most profound sorrow.
They moved him upstairs later that day. The doctor who talked to him was afraid he might hurt himself, and I was a little worried too. For the next two days, he sat strapped to a hospital bed, fighting sleep. He couldn't sleep, he told me, because he would have no way to get back without his umbilicus.
"I would be lost forever," he said, "and my consciousness would float forever in that void."
He told me how he had told the thing behind the door that he would no longer write its story. I had assured him that it was all in his head, that it was a product of his imagination. When it had burst through the door and screamed, he knew it was all too real. He had run then, fled across the void, but the creature had wings, and it had chased him.
"It...it defies description. Its legs were equine, its head looked like a living rock, its body was made of stars...I don't know, dear. Its mouth was full of firey teeth, and when it lunged at me, I could do nothing but flee."
As he had run, the thing had slashed at him. The clawed hand had torn at his umbilicus. Michael said a pain like a rending scythe had torn through his belly, and as he writhed, he could see the firey teeth sever the root from him. He had caught the end then, using the last of his strength to grab the trailing end, and pulled himself out of that dark place a little at a time.
He was afraid after that, afraid to go back.
Afraid of what might be waiting for him.
He fought sleep for the next three days. He would nod and awaken, nod, and awaken, but it seemed harder for him to come back every time. He begged his doctor for caffeine pills, anything to keep him awake, but the doctors thought sleep would do him better than drugs. They fiddled with the idea of sedating him, but I forbade it. When they threatened to get the police involved, thinking I was somehow responsible for this, I threatened to call a lawyer. Finally, we reached a shaky standoff.
It was mute after the third day.
I lost the fight first, drifting off as I sat by his side.
When I awoke, he was gone.
He's in the ICU now. His coma is deep, and the doctors are afraid he might have suffered a stroke. They don't know about his nightly travels, wouldn't believe me if I told them, but I know what has happened to him. He's adrift in the void, maybe already dead at the hands of this elder thing, and there is nothing I can do to get him back.
But maybe there is something you all can do.
My husband could not have been the only one traveling to this place. Some of you must have heard the whispers through the door as well. If you see this door, and if you find my husband, please bring him back. I don't know how you would, but please try.
And if the creatures on the other side of the door talk to you about these things on the other side, please do your self a favor and listen to them.
I wish I had never told him to stop listening.
The price you pay for ignoring them might be your life.
The price might even be steeper than that.
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2022.01.26 20:34 Coffee_Feels INTP 8w9, AMA
2022.01.26 20:34 RLCD-Bot [Titanium White Dominus] [Dominus: Suji] [Orange Haunted Hoss]
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2022.01.26 20:34 trueworldnews Número de Razones por las que Guatemala Necesita Ejército: 0 [/u/AnotherExPatLatino]
2022.01.26 20:34 lifeandtimes89 Family left ‘frightened and unsettled’ after clown painting appears in garden facing home
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2022.01.26 20:34 ruthless_backlash Night in the Museums
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2022.01.26 20:34 mohkadd Machine Gun Kelly - Swim Good (Frank Ocean Cover)
produced by Slim XX, Baze XX, Omer Fedi and Machine Gun Kelly. #MGK #SwimGood #FrankOcean
from Globly | RSS
via Machine Gun Kelly - Swim Good (Frank Ocean Cover)
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2022.01.26 20:34 radmansebay I am sending you 1π! Pi is a new digital currency developed by Stanford PhDs, with over 25 million members worldwide. To claim your Pi, follow this link https://minepi.com/bobbyblackburn and use my username (bobbyblackburn) as your invitation code.
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2022.01.26 20:34 sipCoding_smokeMath The fighters with the most consecutive title defenses in ufc history
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2022.01.26 20:34 kingmorgan76 Saw a post about Ryan’s best lines…this one is mine for sure
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2022.01.26 20:34 itsKNIGHTMARE Just an honorable mention to the game’s spiritual predecessor
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2022.01.26 20:34 rathyr Guardian of the River's Heart [RATE]
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2022.01.26 20:34 kitkatM2 Recently engaged 🥰 waiting for the final ring to arrive but just wanted to share some photos from my ring shopping experience
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2022.01.26 20:34 marijuanaspotonline ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS COMPANY AND THEIR PRODUCT. I LOVE PSILO AND THESE ARE PERFECT MICRO DOSES AND SO YUMMY
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2022.01.26 20:34 alb1rd Født til at lorte
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2022.01.26 20:34 Bron_the_weeb So- my friend- again
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