breath awareness 2025-11-03T22:53:10Z

Create A Wrestler: ChampionCreate and customize a wrestler. Choose a male wrestler or a female wrestler to customize. Choose from a variety of accessories, clothing and personal customization like eyes, nose and hair. Change the wrestler's appearance and attire until you find a wrestler style you like. With your imagination you will create the best professional wrestler on the ring.When you are done creating your professional wrestler. Take a picture of your wrestler by pressing the Camera Butt

My knuckles were white around the steering wheel, rain hammering the windshield like angry pebbles. Stuck in gridlock after the client call from hell, that familiar nicotine itch crawled up my throat – five years quit, yet the muscle memory persists. Fumbling for distraction, my thumb brushed the forgotten icon: Cigarette Smoking Simulator. Not a craving appeaser, but a bizarre digital fidget spinner I'd downloaded months back.

Bezzy Breast CancerAs humans, we\xe2\x80\x99re hardwired for connection. Belonging to a community makes us feel safe and helps us thrive. But so often, living with breast cancer (BC) can make you feel physically and emotionally isolated. Not only can it be hard to do things you loved before your di

Preach My GospelPreach My Gospel is used by full-time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to:\xe2\x80\xa2 Set goals, make plans, and record progress of the people they serve.\xe2\x80\xa2 Work closely with local unit leaders and members.\xe2\x80\xa2 Find and contact people

Rain lashed against the cafe window as I frantically swiped at my phone, each frozen tap echoing the panic tightening my chest. My Pixel 4a wheezed like an asthmatic engine - gallery thumbnails blurred into gray mosaics, Slack notifications stacked like unread tombstones. That crucial client contract? Trapped behind three seconds of lag per keystroke. I watched espresso steam curl upward while my career prospects evaporated in digital molasses. In that moment of pure technological despair, I'd h

Rain lashed against my Brooklyn apartment window like nails on glass. 2:47 AM blinked on the oven clock – that cruel, green digital smirk. My heart wasn't racing; it was jackhammering against my ribs, a frantic prisoner trying to escape the cage of work deadlines and unpaid bills. Sweat glued my t-shirt to my spine despite the November chill. I'd tried counting sheep, warm milk, even staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked like Winston Churchill. Nothing. Just the suffocating dread

My grandmother’s leather-bound Bible felt like a relic museum when depression hollowed my prayers. Fingers tracing faded ink on thin paper became silent rituals where words floated past my soul like distant clouds. Then rain lashed against my apartment window one sleepless 3 AM—the kind of storm that makes you question everything—and I reached not for the physical weight on my nightstand, but my phone. A desperate scroll through app stores led me to it: Biblia Dios Habla Hoy. Installation felt l

That moment when you step into the cathedral-like silence of a museum - marble floors echoing every hesitant footstep, towering ceilings swallowing whispers whole - and feel utterly adrift. I stood paralyzed before a 10-foot abstract triptych, colors bleeding into each other like a weeping bruise. What was I supposed to feel? What story hid beneath those violent brushstrokes? My fingers trembled slightly as I fumbled for my phone, desperate for an anchor in this sea of visual chaos.

Rain lashed against the Brooklyn loft windows last Tuesday, turning my exposed-brick walls into a graveyard of shadows. I'd just survived a client call where they butchered my design mockups with all the grace of a chainsaw juggler. My finger hovered over the cheap Bluetooth speaker's play button - desperate for Sigur Rós to drown the day - when I noticed it. That damn light strip beneath the kitchen cabinets, glowing radioactive green like a 90s hacker movie prop. Again. My third failed attempt

Rain lashed against the windows of my cramped seaside bookstore that Tuesday, the smell of damp paper thick enough to choke on. Mrs. Henderson stood dripping at the counter, her disappointment a physical weight when I told her we hadn’t stocked the obscure Icelandic poetry collection she’d traveled forty miles to find. "I’ll just order it online," she sighed, and the click of her retreating heels echoed like a coffin nail. That night, tallying another week of dwindling receipts in my ledger, sal

Rain lashed against my apartment window that Tuesday morning, each droplet mirroring the frustration pooling in my chest. My phone buzzed with the monthly bank alert – another €89 drained for a regional transit pass I hadn't touched in 17 days. Remote work had transformed my commute into a hallway shuffle between bedroom and coffee machine, yet those iron-clad subscription chains kept tightening. I stared at the payment notification, fingertips cold against the screen, tasting the bitter tang of

Rain lashed against the office windows like thrown gravel as I stared at the security dashboard's crimson alert. Some idiot from sales left a tablet in a taxi - unprotected, unencrypted, brimming with next quarter's pricing models. My coffee turned to acid in my throat imagining competitors dissecting those files. That familiar metallic taste of panic flooded my mouth as I fumbled with legacy enrollment tools, each click met with spinning wheels of doom while sensitive data bled into the wild.

Rain lashed against the cafe window as I frantically swiped between three different reading apps, searching for a crucial quote I'd highlighted last week. My fingers trembled not from caffeine, but from the gut-churning realization: the annotation had vanished into digital oblivion during my last device switch. That highlighted passage in Murakami's Kafka on the Shore held the key to my thesis chapter deadline in 48 hours. Desperation tasted metallic as I recalled years of lost marginalia - hand

That void. That gaping black rectangle swallowing half our living room wall after sunset – it wasn't just empty space. It was a presence, cold and judgmental, like a dead eye staring back at us. Every evening ritual ended the same: the movie credits rolling, the click of the remote, and suddenly the room would deflate. The warm glow of shared laughter replaced by that oppressive darkness. My partner would shift uncomfortably on the couch, I'd find excuses to leave the room, and our rescued greyh

The Tipping PointI almost skipped it—just another “epic” RPG, I thought. But then I saw a healer redirecting an enemy’s firebolt mid-cast, and I paused. That wasn’t a cutscene. That was live, reactive battle logic. From that moment, Watcher of Realms flipped my expectations. I didn’t need more

Epic Shaman Battle: 4P Defense\xf0\x9f\x94\xa5Waves of raging beasts are on the attack! The tribe\xe2\x80\x99s only hope\xe2\x80\xa6 is YOU!\xf0\x9f\x94\xa5\xe2\x9a\xa1 Summon the Spells & Merge to Grow Stronger!\xe2\x9a\xa1 Defend Against Waves of Enemies & Dominate the Battlefield!\xe2\x9a\xa1 Sum

Walker's LinkAn app experience made by Walker's users.Walker\xe2\x80\x99s LINK users can change Ambient Volume and Modes the same as on your headphones, but they also gain access to LINK, Ambient Mute, and Auto Shutoff features all exclusive to the app. Developed specifically for Walker\xe2\x80\x99s

Match 3D-Tile Connect MatchingMatch Triple 3D \xe2\x80\x93 The Ultimate Triple Match Puzzle Game with Real 3D Objects!Feel like having fun while making a positive impact on nature? Match Triple 3D is a fast-paced and addicting 3D matching puzzle game where you sort and match triplets of identical 3D

The fluorescent lights of the emergency room hummed like angry hornets as I slumped against the cold wall. Three consecutive night shifts had reduced my brain to overcooked noodles, my fingers trembling as I fumbled for my phone. That's when I saw it - a shimmering icon promising ancient warriors and tactical battles. With nothing left to lose, I tapped.

The cafeteria's fluorescent lights hummed like angry bees as I stabbed at wilted salad greens. Around me, keyboards clacked and colleagues debated quarterly projections - a symphony of corporate banter that made my temples throb. That's when I thumbed the crimson icon, its minimalist atom logo promising asylum. Suddenly, MIT researchers materialized on my screen, explaining quantum decoherence through dancing cartoon qubits. I nearly choked on a cherry tomato when they demonstrated error-correct