The bun top is typically thicker, allowing for a more solid foundation and to absorb more juices from the meat while being transported as takeout, without falling apart.

I know a burger place that serves their burgers upside down, blew my mind when I first discovered it.

I understand you’re coming from a good place and I appreciate that but it seems I might’ve given the wrong impression, so let me clarify as a wrap up to this thread.

I am employed full time, making decent amount of money as far as the average pay in the country is concerned. Work conditions are decent.

I do have a place to rent but it goes up in price every year with no justifications and no work being done to correct or address a lot of the issues it exhibits, including but not limited to the ever growing heat problem (much hotter indoors), electrical issues, bathroom mold and deteriorating cracks in the walls/stairs to name a few. Fighting this is futile or lengthy and costly, something my wallet and my mental state cannot afford. The alternative is either let it be or move to a different place, similar circumstances or slightly improved, but with a much higher cost associated.

I also exercise every other day and while it definitely has its merits, it’s also rough to convince myself to do it every time. I think I missed a total of 4 days of exercise so far this year. Discipline wise, I feel that’s alright.

I agree that the shrink is not a one-doc-fits-all and it’s important to find the one that resonates with you, I also feel bouncing off ideas from people outside of your comfort zone is important as it provides a wider perspective on things which you may not have considered otherwise.

While he did not do much, he did confirm the diagnosis of a severe depression and has helped enough for me to conclude that I’m not insane, and similar to millions of others, just a victim of circumstances and consequences of social and economic policies that push this burning bus downhill ever faster.

Most of the items I experience are not a matter of perspective, it’s a matter of fact, global warming, unaffordability of housing, stagnant wages, anti consumer practices just to name a few

Ultimately, my point is that I don’t want to mitigate the pain, I want to not have to deal with it in the first place.

Just because I can keep fighting and reassemble the pieces again and again, doesn’t mean I want to. Repairing the cracks doesn’t make you stronger no matter what people say, the glue only helps so much and there is always a toll paid when reassembling broken stuff. I understand when people want to compare it to the Japanese art of repairing stuff with gold but it’s never that nice, you don’t come out stronger in the end, you come out assembled in whatever configuration allows you to survive and with less energy for the next run, but with more disdain for having to do it again.

And again.

And again after that.

To summarize: I’m just tired.

I had a listen, thank you.

Unfortunately it does not resonate with me since the issues I faced… or rather still currently facing, are basic things that are missing, for example not having a safe space or being able to afford a place to call my own in which I could even think to begin to thrive. It’s not that the shrink didn’t see my problem, it’s that he understood that most of these are socially engineered problems, that given proper legislation from the government for social services and habitat and controlling/reigning in the rampant runoff capitalism that we’re experiencing would alleviate or resolve, and unfortunately he, being a medical professional, is not able to assist with that. He validated that I was indeed exhibiting symptoms of severe depression from these items and did the best he could, but even today, the situation stays much unchanged in most of those items. And no, I don’t have much hope for anything to change in the future, despite all the social movements we’re seeing pop up.

I’d love to be proven wrong.

Reminds me of the events that transpired over the last half a decade or so.

Over the last several years my mental state was deteriorating. Stress accumulated. Various stuff, employment, overworked, underpaid. Inability to afford housing. Covid. War overseas. Had a mental breakdown at some point. Ended up on meds and in therapy. After multiple sessions was informed by my psychologist that “the reactions you’re exhibiting are normal for a person that has experienced all the items and stress associated with all we discussed up to now, unfortunately I cannot help you as the response is perfectly normal and there’s nothing wrong with you”

I still don’t know how I feel about that specific statement after several thousand dollars of therapy, but I guess it’s better than assuming my depression isn’t “good enough” to be real depression.

There’s a good chance the world should be ashamed to be in the state that it’s in, not for you to be ashamed that you finally see it as it is.

Bad rats show is still a personal favourite of mine to gift on steam.

Some pictures would probably help.

The crunch really leaves an impression for a long time too

For the king. Made for 3 people

Ah shit. Here we go again.

Brave is in the same business model as google. Selling ads. First drive adoption. Then flip the table to serve ads.

It works for you due to the firewall restrictions and such, great, use the tools that work for you.

But as far as using it as a default, nope; Firefox (and any non chromium browser if I can help it) all the way.

With a bidet attachment so it can slurp every last bit

Large bottle of bleach.

I’ll apologize later

Valerian root tea is one I’m familiar with but not sure I’ve seen in regular stores

I know what I’m doing tomorrow.

Like all turds, flush it down

Was a writing prompt that I’ve read quite a few years ago ago, copied below:

“You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar’s body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.”

This is the story that followed, credit to wercwercwerc from Reddit.

He was a real good guy, through and through. Never met anyone quite like him since, never really expect I will either.

People like Joe don’t come around often. Once in a lifetime maybe, if you’re lucky.

Almost everyone I’ve ever met had the tiny silvered papercuts of white-lies on their fingers. It’s a price of formalities, a camouflage of sorts- as everyone has a few, some deeper cut than others over the years; opened and reopened time after time. And not just that, but the larger cuts, silvery things on forearms and shins, necks or backs. People lie, it’s just the way of things.

Sometimes the pain it worth the deception, the balancing scale plays out mentally before a person’s mouth opens.

Joining the force was what I wanted. There was a lie I told myself: A Lie I scratched in deep, over and over again. I wanted to change, I wanted my parents to be proud: All lies, tiny scratching lines on my shoulder to create a strange and deceitful pattern that never seemed to heal completely.

In truth, I joined the force because I had nothing left. I joined as a last ditch effort to save myself from rock bottom. Among the elite, surrounded by the brave and the successful, I simply kept my head down. It felt like being a fox, stuck among a pack of wolves. Just being there in the first place felt like deception.

But then, there was instructor Joe.

I had more scars than most, and that earned little trust- but if people were politely cold with me, they were visibly frigid with Joe. See, he didn’t have the traditional marks on his hands, he didn’t have cuts and nicks along his arms, his face or neck: At a quick glance you might have thought him the most honest man alive. In fact, at first people did. A man in his fading thirties without scars?

That’s like a god-damn unicorn. They’re more myth and legend than person- yet there he was. Plain as day.

Everyone liked Joe that first week. Everyone wanted to be on good terms with him- I mean, who wouldn’t? In a world of liars and cheats, proof reminded at every twist and turn of the road, who wouldn’t want someone they could trust?

Well, that was before he took of his shirt in the locker-room. Before we all saw the hideous mark that covered half his back. One lie, but the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen. From his shoulder blade to his ribs, it looked like a crashing comet of red and silvered white. A tiny portion of it just finally healing, a rough tear now recovered again.

It was all the same lie. That’s something you can just tell sometimes, just know it. Usually you can tell how many times too, but whatever the number was which he’d said that aloud, I don’t know.

He rarely spoke to begin with, issuing the orders with a stern smile, instructing as all the rest did. He was positive, encouraging, truthful: But that scar was on everyone’s mind. Deep, dark, and terrible: Someone who could tell a lie like that… Well, there was someone to watch out for. In the end though, it was at the range when things went well and truly sour.

Live-fire runs, we’d done them a thousand times, but that day I guess someone forgot themselves. Maybe they thought too much on what and how and their brain skipped a beat, or maybe they were just careless. Regardless of the reason, a shot fired when it shouldn’t have. Brass spit fire, Air swallowed metal, and lead took its first taste of iron, calcium, iron and dirt.

In that order.

We all stopped, eyes wide and watching that kid fall down real slow. First standing, staring with his hand pulling away- not even scared, just shocked. Red, like deep crimson soaking and spreading, he dropped down to his knees. Still, he wasn’t even there yet, it hadn’t quite processed.

That’s when Joe caught him- and all the shouting erupted. The pandemonium, the first real training turned to action kicking in. Cries for “Medic!” and “KIT! Get the kit!” as people ran for the directions they thought mattered.

I was close enough to know that wasn’t going to make a difference. Center of mass was what we trained for, the reason was straight and forward: Shoot to kill. Eliminate the target and move on.

So I sat there, weapon heavy in my hands as I watched Joe hold this kid, blood pouring out into the dirt like a faucet, and I listened to him repeat the words that cut deep. Over, and over, and over again.

“Hang on, look at me. You’re gonna be alright.”

“You’re gonna be alright.”

It’ll be okay.

Standard issue poop break