Ria

India.

This is for my public speaking class and I'm trying to get feedback on what people's impressions of India are.

I've been trying to transfer music from my iTunes account to my ZEN nano plus, but it'll only let me transfer mp3s and wmas. Is there any way to convert back from mpegs to wmas?

Thanks!

Whenever I try to go to these sites, I get this message:

Reported Attack Site!

This web site at interactive.mugglenet.com has been reported as an attack site and has been blocked.

Attack sites try to install programs that steal private information, use your computer to attack others, or damage your system.

Some attack sites intentionally distribute harmful software, but many are compromised without the knowledge or permission of their owners.

A 1.2 kg box that is sliding on a frictionless surface with a speed of 15 m/s approaches a horizontal spring. The spring has a spring constant of 2000 N/m.

(a) How far will the spring be compressed in stopping the box?

(b) In order to reduce the boxes speed to half of its initial speed, how far must the spring be compressed?

I could use an interpretation of that please...how do the Pisces moon and Cappy ascendant affect me?

I was born June 22, 1992 at 8:45 pm in Austin, Texas, USA.

I know I'm a water monkey, but I'd like to know some more about it.

List at least ten...feel free to list some more.

And Girls: what are some things you wish guys knew?

mean what, exactly?

how do all of those affect my personality, looks, love life, etc?

and also....i've got a major crush on a cancerian guy (born june 29, me - june 22)...would that work out?

To Whom the Blame Falls

Not a thousand good deeds of charity and benevolence could atone for what she had done. She sank slowly onto a cheap couch and let her head fall to her hands. All the years she had remained reticent – all the angry, silent meetings – all the nights she had spent crying in hurt and frustration – and this was the result, the final end and culmination of a long and bitter battle. Everything she had held onto for the past seven years came crashing down, and a giant void assumed the place where her rancor had been. It was over. There was no one left to hate. None but herself. Quietly, she began to sob.

Unwillingly, her mind vaulted into a deep pit of memories, forcing things upon her she had tried so hard to forget: life as it had been before the boyfriend came to ruin everything, and all the dastardly things that happened afterward. Emotion swelled through her body, and she bit her lip, trying to ease the pain. How much easier it would be if she could just forget – banish these images from her mind. It did not matter if they were pleasant or not, for they taunted her with the single figure she cared for most, the single figure to whom she ever felt truly akin, the single figure who was now gone forever. Her mother.

She tried to focus, tried to clear her mind and form a rational plan of what would come next, but she could not. All she could think of was that she could not remember the last time she had shown her mother the slightest shred of affection. No, she had fondled her pride too closely for that, and now it was all that remained to her. Her mother was dead, and all the words she had waited to say lay like boulders in the pit of her stomach, churning about unpleasantly and tormenting her with their horrid shrieks.

Why had she been unable to speak? Why couldn’t she let go of this load which had burdened her these seven years? Why couldn’t she, even now, forgive her? Wounds, deep wounds, had festered within her for so long that she could not imagine what life was like without them. Her mother was dead, but still she could not forgive her, or herself, or him.

It all began with that bastard of a boyfriend. He had a name, but she never called him by it. He did not deserve the honor of a name – nay, for that would make him seem human, and she considered the dirt beneath her feet worthier than he. She referred to him simply as “the frickin’ boyfriend.” She hated him with a passion nothing in the world could eradicate, because he stole from her the only person who meant anything at all to her. She and her mother had been best friends practically since the day she was born, and her mother liked to joke that she created her own best friend. They had shared everything – and basked in the joy of more laughter and happy days in a year than most people were blessed with in a lifetime. She shared all her mother’s woes with a patience and understanding not in congruence with her age, and because of this had less of a childhood than was perhaps fitting. But she begrudged none of this, and was willing to sacrifice whatever was necessary in order to give proof of the love she felt with all her being. She was continually endeavoring to prove her great love, and she suffered for it, but with a smile, for she would not have traded this for all the riches in the world. She was happy and lucky and she had glowed with contentment.

And then he came and took it all away. She spat at the very mention of him. What had he done, after all, to earn this right and privilege? What right had he to descend upon her thus and snatch all she held dear – drain the color from her life? True, he could do for her mother what she herself could not – take her dancing and go to bars with her – but she could not understand the great importance in these things. Were they really so much better than spending the day hiking in the fresh cleanliness of the mountains, talking freely and basking in the affinity of their friendship? Perhaps it was the newness of it that made it so irresistible, but still she could not understand when it persisted. From where did this man gain inherent superiority over her, that made all her love in vain – that made her mother choose him over her? The words cut more deeply than any knife could have done: her mother chose him.

She had not reacted well to his presence, refusing to see him and withdrawing into herself. It was her way of quietly protesting this grave injustice, her way of hinting that she could not accept this oppressive force, this enemy. But her mother did not understand this silent plea, and she paid it no heed. By drawing away, she expected her mother to follow her, to value their friendship above all else as she herself did, thus showing that she cared for her more, and always would – that no outsider could take her place. She desired this to happen, willed it into existence, but it did not. Instead of bringing them closer together, it pushed them apart, and the being she tried so hard to regain slipped through her clenched fingers. Almost imperceptibly, the present became the past, and the past was gone forever – a thing swept downriver by a fast current – all she could do was grieve its passing.

She tried to move on, but acute memories snagged themselves like angry thistles in her brain. Even now, after so much time had passed, they cut like poisoned thorns, embedding themselves in her flesh and spreading their wrath through her bloodstream. Like the time her mother had snapped at her and told her to get some friends her own age. She wanted her out of the way now – spending time with her daughter was now only second-rate, and more like a chore, for she had to pay for the ice cream. Things were free when she went out with him.

Or the time she couldn’t sleep and accidently woke her mother up because she made a noise in the kitchen. The mother who would have once comforted a suffering girl no longer existed, and she cared only about her precious rest. Center stage appealed to her, and there was not room for anyone else; at least only at appropriate hours. The suffering of others ought only make itself known when it was convenient.

But what hurt most was the day her mother told her that she was ruining her life. She was ruining her life because she refused to meet the frickin’ boyfriend. That was the day she left home – the day she threw her belongings out of a window and moved in with her father. She planned to be gone a week, but her mother made it absolutely impossible for her to return. The chasm between them widened so far that they could no longer see one another clearly. All that remained was a dim memory. She became a stranger in the home of her childhood – the home she had loved so dearly and declared she would never leave. She had painted those walls and dug those flowerbeds, the hours she had toiled over them – they had belonged to her, been her undeniable property. Now they were as separated from her as the bottom of the ocean. She was left with nothing.

She considered suicide. It seemed quite reasonable and practical since life was not worth living anymore. The future was as cold and bleak as a hundred miserable winters strung in succession. There was no point to living, really. All the best had passed and it made no sense to eke out a shabby existence in the painful shadow of her climax. The idea enticed her forcefully, and thought of it pleased and comforted her late at night. Maybe when she was dead her mother would feel sorry about what she had done to her. Maybe then she would feel she had done wrongly.

But in the end she did not, probably because she was too cowardly to venture into such a great unknown. Instead she tried to forget – tried to drown and bury her memories under a deluge and load of movies and parties – bury them so deep that she would never recover them. But as surely as oil eludes water, they surfaced and reopened all the old wounds. Waves of grief and regret ambushed her without reason or provocation, and she learned painfully that a person does not “get over” these sorts of things. These sorts of things do not simply go away. They cling to you, like parasites, until they become part of you; and you have to live with them, because there is not a surgeon in the world who can remove them.

Nevertheless, she managed somehow. She made idle friends who never called or asked her how she was doing. Her relationships did not last – her few attempts proved to her that they were her Achilles’ heel, and so she abandoned all hope of salvation in that direction. She labeled herself a misanthrope and dealt with it. She was not happy anymore, but neither was she dreadfully unhappy, and the pain of that first separation rendered her capable of coping with the problems that presented themselves. There were always more problems. She solved them just quickly enough to keep her life bearable, and she trudged her way through life silently, uncomplainingly, telling herself it was her own fault for pushing the best person out of her life and leaving that damnable August day. She had brought it upon herself. Brutal honesty did little to comfort her.

And then the phone call came that changed her life once again. Her mother was dead. Gone were all her foolish fancies of ever kissing and making up – going back to the way things used to be – and gone was any last, lingering hope that things would be better. There was no chance for redemption. Every day she had forced herself to get up, clinging to the religious belief that it was all a dream and that she would soon wake from it and see her mother smiling down on her, ready with a batch of freshly made pancakes – the feel of her mother’s soft hands with their strong, almond-shaped nails. Those hands would never move again. She had waited seven years for them to beckon to her, she realized, been quietly waiting, pretending that she had forgotten and pretending that she did not care. In truth, it was the only thing that had ever mattered to her. She shuddered as a surge of latent grief burst from deep within her. She wiped the stream of tears pouring down her face and dunked her head in cold water. How had it come to this? How had two people been so utterly incapable of resolving their differences in seven years?

It had been a steady path leading towards destruction, and they had caused it all. It was her mother’s fault really, because she had chosen someone else. Things had been wonderful the way they were; it was she who set out to change it – went looking for something better. No, it was her own fault, because she had refused to accept – refused to share the being she loved most, and thinking she could prevent the inevitable. She had protested in fury, but who but herself had suffered most for it? But, it was his fault, surely, for it he had not come along none of this would have ever happened. None of it would have ever happened.

All alone, she wept.

I mean, look at this question.

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AtbA8...

I'm a cancer girl and i get kind of annoyed when people say things like "cancers are waaay too emo" and all that other crap. sure, we have good traits and bad traits, just like every other sign...no need to harp on us about it...

sorry about the rant there. i needed to vent a little...

i was born in the year of the monkey and im a cancerian girl.

i've always felt they contradict each other. what do you think?

how do you help a cancer guy get out of a bad mood? one of my friends is a cancer guy and im a cancer. he's really really pissed off about something and he won't tell me what or calm down...help, please...

preferably something only hp fans will get, but anything will work.

thanks!!

I was just wondering how the gemini cusp affects me...so basically tell me everything there is to know about this sign. thanks guys!!!

Hi, i was born in june and i've got two birthstones, pearls and alexandrite. what is the significance of each?

What's the compatability of a Cancerian girl and a Cancerian guy? Would they get along or be irritated by similarities in personality traits?

so, there's this guy i like and we've known each other for a pretty long time. i think he likes me, but im not really sure. we chat pretty often, at least thrice a week. should i tell him that i like him or not?

Omg!! There's a maximum ride movie coming out!! Do you think Amy Rose, the girl in the trailer on maximumride.com, should play max? And, does anyone believe that Ari is still evil after reading MR 3? Do you guys think Max will get together with Fang?

there's so much stuff on there that i don't know. wasn't that the hardest test you've ever taken? is there an antidote to the draught of living death? just tell me what you guys thought of it. Thanks!